Wisp
by Cris
Summary: Edward wins more than he bargained for at what was supposed to be a friendly poker game. AH. Ysar made me my banner!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Howdy! This is the beginning of a plot bunny that wouldn't get out of my head. Rest assured, ACAP is my first priority, and Lullaby is my second, so don't expect too many updates of this one until at LEAST ACAP is finished. :-)_

_All human. No babies. Violence and mentions of rape (no depictions as of yet; I'll let you know if that changes). There are several stories here about Bella being held captive as a pet by evil vampires and rescued by the Cullen family. My very favorite (warning - has been abandoned!) is called Finding Bella, and you can find it in my favorites list. This is a little different take on the genre, since it's AH._

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**Wisp**

"First ace deals."

"That's embarrassing. Did you cut those cards, Jazz?"

"Somebody ought to cut _Jazz_."

"Cut the crap and ante up. How about a little five-card stud?"

"Bet a buck blind."

"Call."

"Call."

"The winning hand is...folding." Edward tossed his cards on the table and stood, stretching a little. They'd been playing for several hours already, and he wasn't as into the game as usual. Something was off tonight.

"The pot is ripe."

Jasper's girlfriend Alice had set up a snack spread on the breakfast bar before leaving for a girls-only night. She didn't begrudge their poker evenings, and made sure the kitchen was well-stocked with junk food before leaving them to it. It was one of the reasons their regular poker crowd liked it best when Jasper hosted. Edward leaned on the bar, holding a handful of pretzels as he watched his friends relax into the rhythm of the game.

This was their ritual, the first Friday of every month, and had been for years—since high school. Beer and whiskey now took the place of soda, but not much else had changed. The core group remained the same: Edward, Jasper, Emmett, Mike, Eric, Peter, and sometimes Carlisle when he was in town. As a much-requested thoracic surgeon, one of the top in his field, he was often away on business.

Tonight Mike had brought a new player with him, which wasn't generally kosher with this group but there was little they could do when he just showed up. James had done nothing wrong, per se, but something about him rubbed Edward the wrong way. He crunched a pretzel as the hand ended and Eric picked up the spare deck of cards to deal a new game.

"You sitting this one out, Edward?" Jasper called without looking.

"No; I'll be right there." Edward crammed the last few pretzels into his mouth and regained his seat. He liked these poker nights, liked how easy it was to settle in with the guys and not worry about table manners or other, similar pressures from the outside world. He and his friends had their own understandings, their own cadences and customs on poker night. Feet on the table? Sure, no problem. Talking with your mouth full? Go right ahead. But they only played for small amounts of money—a dollar here, five there. It was a practice started when they were high school kids, and it had carried over now that they were older, too. After all, it was supposed to be a friendly game, not a high-stakes table in Vegas.

There was also no smoking, no matter who was hosting that month. James hadn't been particularly pleased to hear that. Edward knew it wasn't necessarily normal to forbid smoking at the poker table on a guys' night, but Carlisle wasn't the only doctor in the bunch and they all had sworn off the little cancer sticks.

The no-smoking rule wasn't the only one James hadn't been particularly fond of, Edward remembered as he picked up his cards and heard the familiar flow of male voices begin again, easy and loose with alcohol and the late hour. James was a bad winner and a worse loser, and he seemed almost obsessed with winning, no matter how friendly the game or low the stakes. Idly sipping at his beer, Edward wondered where Mike found this guy. Not that Mike was a stunning example of manhood himself, but his poker buddies knew and understood him, whereas they didn't know James.

Edward had been friends with Jasper and Emmett practically since infancy. He couldn't remember a time when those two weren't part of his life. He had come to live with his uncle Carlisle and aunt Esme after his parents were decreed unfit, but he didn't remember. As far as he was concerned, Carlisle and Esme were his parents. The fact that they were young—much younger than his friends' parents—and insisted that he call them by their names didn't undermine the bond he shared with them. Carlisle had taught them all to play poker, after all, during long afternoons in the basement of the old house. Now that Edward was an adult, he considered his uncle a friend as well as a confidante, and was happy to have that sort of relationship with his father figure.

Mike and Eric they'd met in middle school, and they'd all gone on to high school together. They weren't necessarily the best of friends, but it was nice to have the extra bodies for poker nights. Peter was Jasper's cousin, and had moved to the area for college. He was the newest member of their group, but unlike James, he fit in well.

"What do you think the odds are of me getting the fifth jack?" Emmett asked dryly. "Ah, well." He tossed in a chip.

Jasper rolled his eyes.

Once again, Edward tried to relax into the rhythm of the game. It was difficult, though. James kept trying to up the ante, and he ridiculed the whole table when they refused. Then, around two in the morning, he developed a losing streak that he couldn't get rid of. James kept getting angrier and angrier, fuming quietly—and then not so quietly—as the pile of chips in front of him dwindled to nothing.

Jasper finally called an end to the night around four am, which was close to their usual quitting time anyway. On normal poker nights they played until first light, when the game would end congenially and the biggest winner would take the rest out to breakfast.

Edward had a feeling that would not happen tonight.

But they had one more ritual on poker nights, and as Edward watched Jasper reach for the spare deck one last time, he knew they weren't skipping it. The host always got to deal the last round.

James was out of money, though, and he was adamant about not sitting out the final round.

"Cash only," Jasper said stubbornly when James tried to offer his watch as collateral. "Besides, Edward already extended you credit." The rest of that sentence went unsaid, though it was obvious what was meant. No one expected James to pay them back, and Edward had been a fool for not being firm enough to resist.

"My truck," James said quickly. "And everything in it. There's some nice tools, whatever."

Jasper wrinkled his nose. "That rusted piece of crap isn't worth anything, and you know it."

"Wait a minute," Emmett said. He cocked his head to the side, considering. "It's rusted to shit, but it's a classic. Rosie might like it."

James looked mildly insulted, as if the thought of handing a truck over to a woman was somehow repulsive, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. "You'll deal?" he asked, turning away from Jasper.

"I don't have that kind of dough on me, man," Emmett said.

Edward knew exactly where this was going, and he exchanged a long look with Carlisle, who only shrugged back at him. Emmett was going to ask Edward to loan him the cash to front James' final hand, placing the truck up for grabs. With James' luck, the vehicle would be Emmett's before long. Edward hoped his friend was right and Rosalie would appreciate the gift. She _was_ a mechanic with an eye for classic automobiles, but that didn't necessarily mean James' truck was worth saving.

"Edward?" Emmett asked. "What do you say?"

Edward considered. He didn't particularly want to give James the cash, particularly since it seemed the guy had a fairly serious gambling problem. But Emmett was trustworthy, and if he wanted the damn truck, who was Edward to tell him no? "How much?" he asked, and though his eyes were on Emmett, he wasn't overly surprised when it was James who spoke.

"Five hundred," James said.

"Highway robbery!" Emmett crowed. "Two-fifty."

Edward tuned out the sound of bargaining, turning to look at their reflections in the darkened window. He couldn't see the truck from here, but he knew Emmett would likely overpay for it. Honestly, when he'd heard James rattle up in that old thing, he'd been surprised it even ran. The engine sounded sick, and that was coming from Edward, who appreciated a smooth-running vehicle but knew virtually nothing about what went on under the hood. He trusted Rosalie to take care of his Volvo and didn't worry about it.

The final price—three seventy-five—was settled on, and James retreated from the table to dig the pink slip from the cab of the truck. Edward dug in his wallet, extracting the cash and eying Emmett carefully.

"Thanks, Ed," his longtime friend said. "I owe you one."

"You sure do," Jasper said. "And you'll owe Rosalie, too, once she gets a look at what you tried to buy her."

"It's not that bad!" Emmett insisted. "She'll like it. Won't she, Carlisle?"

Carlisle merely shrugged, though Edward could see a glimmer of humor in his father's eyes. At least someone was having fun.

James returned with wrinkled ownership papers, plopping them down in front of Edward in exchange for the cash. He then traded most of the money for chips from Jasper, who doled them out unwillingly. It was clear that Mike's friend would not be joining them for poker night again.

Edward tried not to care too much about the outcome of this final hand, but he was honestly a little afraid of what James might do if he lost again.

He wasn't the only one, either. It became painfully apparent after only a few minutes that Jasper wasn't even trying, and Edward distinctly saw Carlisle discard an ace—something he'd lectured them never to do unless they were extremely sure of themselves. Since Carlisle was not a risk-taker, it was obvious that he wasn't really trying to win either.

But Emmett, being Emmett, had no such compunctions. He won handily with a beautiful full house that Edward would have been proud of, if circumstances had been different.

But circumstances were not different, and James' face turned red once it was apparent that he had lost again. He shuddered, closing his eyes as Emmett raked in the small pile of cash and the pink slip to James' truck.

Surprisingly, there was no outburst. James simply asked Mike for a ride home, and without a word to anyone else, they quickly left.

Carlisle, Jasper, and Edward threw careful glances at each other as the others also began to stand and stretch, scraping their winnings together. Mike hadn't bothered to trade in his chips for cash, which wasn't entirely unusual—the chips were perfectly good for their next game, and with the exception of James, no one else played for amounts they couldn't afford to lose. Emmett was busily counting piles of plastic chips in preparation to exchange them for bills, but Jasper wasn't watching.

"That was...interesting," Carlisle said.

"To say the least." Jasper's mouth flicked up in an ironic little grin.

It was strange, perhaps, that Edward had not been the one to follow Carlisle into medicine. He'd considered it—for a long while, he'd assumed medical school lay in his future. But once in college, he found himself gravitating more and more toward the social sciences and less and less toward the requisite pre-med courses. A guilty visit home and a muttered admission had been all it took for Carlisle and Esme to assure him that he didn't need to follow in his uncle's footsteps for them to be proud of him. They expected him to follow his dreams, to be happy with his life choices, and nothing more. A doctorate in sociology and two widely-cited books later, Edward was happy to say that he'd found his niche.

It was Jasper who had followed Carlisle into medicine, though he vacillated for the longest time about his specialty. Finally he almost sheepishly settled on pediatrics, admitting that helping children felt so much more rewarding than placating hypochondriacs. Since deciding to complete his medical degree, Jasper had grown closer to Carlisle, who had been a mentor to him and Emmett when they were young. Edward did not begrudge his best friend and uncle their relationship. He was secure in his family ties, and he knew Carlisle loved and appreciated him for the successful person he had turned out to be.

"Hey," Emmett said, jamming wads of crumpled bills into his pockets, "let's go take a look at my new truck!"

"It's not yours yet," Jasper reminded him. "You have to pay Edward first."

"Aw, shit. He knows I'm good for it."

Emmett _was_ good for it. Edward held back a grin, though, as he teased his friend. "I don't know," he said, plucking the pink slip off the table. "I think this is mine." As if he'd even want it.

"It might be wise to let Edward drive the truck home," Carlisle said, standing and stretching. His back popped several times, and he grimaced. "He and I carpooled here. How would you get your Jeep home if you took the truck?"

Emmett conceded, saying he'd beg Rose to use the tow truck to pick up the monstrosity from Edward's house tomorrow. No one wanted to leave it at Jasper's, on the off chance James came back and tried to take it.

So Edward was left with the thing, and he grimaced as he stepped out the door into the darkness of pre-dawn. The woods of Washington were quiet and still, the nocturnal creatures settled for the night and the morning birds not yet awake. He eyed the rusted monstrosity of a truck, a hulking shadow among shadows. Light from Jasper's house spilled into the darkness, sharp golden illumination that hindered more than it helped his night vision. He squinted, ignoring the ribbing comments from Carlisle and Jasper as he approached the vehicle almost as if he was afraid it might attack him.

But the truck did nothing—it just sat there, dark and old, and with a deep breath Edward grasped the driver's side door handle and pulled.

It opened with a hellacious screech, and Edward winced as the nails-on-a-chalkboard feeling vibrated down his spine. He fumbled around inside, searching for keys, finally finding them tossed on the dashboard. One key for the doors and ignition, and it looked like a second key for the ugly black camper shell that had been placed over the bed of the truck.

"Sure you can handle her?" Emmett asked, laughing at Edward's hesitation.

Edward made a face. So what if he was used to driving his Volvo and not something this big? It didn't mean he couldn't do it. He shifted his weight, springing up into the tall cab of the truck, and slotted the key into the ignition.

The cab stank of cigarettes and the sour reek of old alcohol. Rose was going to have a coronary when Emmett brought this thing home. Edward just hoped that, for all his trouble, he was able to see the fallout.

He turned the ignition. The truck coughed and died.

On the second try, a low, angry growl rumbled from the motor. Edward pumped the gas pedal with his foot, urging the beast to life. It grumbled at him, coughed and spluttered, and finally roared to life with a din Edward _knew_ was going to rouse Jasper's neighbors. With a resigned sigh, he began angling himself out of the driveway and toward his home.

Home wasn't too far away, at least at the moment. He had a condo in Seattle, but whenever he was in the midst of writing a new book he took up residence in the smaller house on his parents' property. It was a nice little place, a cabin really, and it provided the perfect amount of solitude. The town of Forks was close by, but he wasn't surrounded by the noise and bustle of the city. He could really think when he was out here—really settle down and puzzle out the thoughts in his head, turning them into words that made sense.

Parking the truck was another adventure—there was no parking brake, and the beast didn't seem to enjoy staying still on the slight incline of Edward's gravel driveway. He shook his head slightly, wrinkling his nose as he jumped out of the cab. Just the short drive had made his clothes stink. No way was he getting in that cab again. Rose and Emmett could come with an extra car or the tow truck, but he damn well wasn't driving this thing to their house.

The sun hadn't risen yet, but the grey pre-dawn light was getting brighter as Edward blinked away the fog of a night of poker. He rubbed his face, staring at the unwelcome truck in his driveway. James had said there were tools in there. Maybe there was something useful? Emmett wouldn't mind—he could call it interest on the loan he'd extended Emmett.

Unlocking his house, Edward turned on the outside light and peered through the tinted windows on the side of the truck's camper shell. The windows were so dark and dirty that he couldn't see anything so, resigned, he fished the keys out of the cab and walked around back, slotting the smaller key into the lock on the back of the camper shell.

The key did not want to turn, but Edward jiggled it until it finally clicked. He turned the handle, hearing the grating sound of rusty parts, and shoved the vertical door up.

A waft of foul-smelling air hit his face, and Edward nearly gagged. What the hell had James been keeping back here? It smelled like excrement, and something horribly unclean. Had a small animal somehow found its way into the bed of the truck and been trapped? Died? Knowing James, it was equally likely that he had killed something during last hunting season, tossed it in the back of the truck, and forgotten about it.

The smell was almost enough to make Edward close the hatch and leave the whole mess for Emmett, but Edward was still a young man—a young man who remembered what it was like to be a small boy. The revolting smell and the mystery of what made it called to that little boy inside him, and he couldn't quite make himself let it go. Carefully, lest something from the dark bed of the truck fall on him, he lowered the tailgate.

Not much light filtered through the filthy windows of the beat-up black camper shell, and Edward frowned. There was something in there—a blacker shape against the rusted color of the truck bed—but he couldn't tell what. He fished his own keys out of his pocket, turned on the little keychain LED he carried, and shined it into the darkness.

As a sociologist, Edward felt an odd detachment, his academic training trying to catalogue what he was experiencing even as it happened. A single LED bulb did not illuminate well, making a pinprick of light more than anything else, and he squinted as the cold blue beam found what looked like a mass of dark, tangled hair. It was too long to be the fur of a deer or mountain lion, or even a bear. He frowned. The creature was much too small to be any of those things, too. Moving the light, he encountered...skin?

Yes. His eyes knew what they saw, though his brain was in no way ready to process it. Cold, pale skin—human skin. A shoulder, a fragile, unmoving arm.

The light went crazy, and it took Edward several heartbeats to realize it was because his hands were shaking so badly. His pulse was racing, his breaths sharp and jagged as he dropped his keys to the ground and grabbed blindly in his pocket for his cell phone.

It took much longer than it should have to unlock the device and find Carlisle's number. "Please don't be asleep. Please don't be asleep," Edward begged. He didn't want to call the house phone and risk waking up Esme, but he would if he had to.

Carlisle answered on the fifth ring, sounding sleepy but remarkably unperturbed. "I'm not as young as I used to be, you know," he said lightly. "Can't an old man get some sleep?"

"Girl," Edward stuttered, unable to make his mouth form a coherent sentence. "Girl—dead girl. James—Carlisle!"

Instantly Carlisle's voice shifted into doctor-mode. The brusque, no-nonsense tone grounded Edward slightly—this was a voice he knew well from childhood. It was the voice that meant everything would be okay. Right now, it was music to his ears. "Edward, son, take a deep breath. Where are you? Did you have an accident on the road?"

"No!" Edward tried to follow his father's advice. "I'm home—just come. Please!"

"I'll be right there."

The phone disconnected, and Edward was left by himself with the naked body of a dead girl.

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_A/N: I LOVE abuse fics (as you can probably tell, lol!). There's something about the hurt/comfort genre that really appeals to me. I think it's the idea of someone (usually Bella in this fandom) finding a person (Edward) or a family (the Cullens) to love and help her when she needs it most. Something about the idea of family and love soothing the wounds of the past...idk. Here are some of my favorites:_

The Mocking Moon by newmoonaholic

Finding Bella by Wishingforlove81

Torn by Dooba

Empty Panes and Pretty Things by Ayden Morgen

Hit by Destiny by ocdmess

Dark Waltz by Moonchild707 _**I hesitated to add this one, since the actual writing is not superb. But the storyline is compelling, and it's better than some of the other offerings from this particular author, so I decided to include it.**_

_Any/all of the stories I rec here or later are read-at-your-own-risk; there may be violence, sex, rape, and/or other uncomfortable topics._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Wow, I'm so pleased about the response to this! Don't expect updates so often - I just happened to have more of this written. ACAP is still my main project right now. Thanks so much for the reviews, duckies!_

_All standard disclaimers apply.  
_

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**Wisp**

Edward dug his hands deep into his tawny hair, pulling until it hurt. The pain was helpful—distracting. He took another breath, trying to count slowly in his head. Inhale to five, exhale to five. Yeah, not working. Calming techniques were all well and good, but not when faced with a dead girl on your property. He bent, scrabbling in the darkness for his dropped keys, stumbling after a moment into the welcome glare of his floodlight.

Of course, standing in the light only made the dark, angular shadow of the truck look that much more sinister. He tugged at his hair again, not caring at the moment that his hands were filthy from digging through wet gravel for his keys.

James was a dead man. How _could_ he hand over his truck, just like that, with a dead body in the bed? And oh, god, what would have happened if Edward hadn't decided to poke around? What if Rosalie had discovered her? Rose, a survivor of domestic abuse, was very touchy about the issue of violence, particularly toward women, and Emmett was extremely protective of his live-in girlfriend. If Rose had found the girl, James wouldn't be long for this earth.

The sound of swift footsteps cut into Edward's thoughts, and he turned his head sharply toward the trail that led from the big house to the cabin. Carlisle was easy to see once he got closer, dressed in pale khaki and a white scarf. He had a long Maglite flashlight with him, and he jogged the last few yards to the gravel clearing in front of the cabin.

"Edward—son," he said, panting a little from his swift trip. "What's wrong?"

Edward pointed to the truck, the back an open, gaping black maw.

Carlisle approached the vehicle with caution, raising his flashlight to shine into the depths. "Oh, god!" he said as the light fell on the girl. "Edward, come here and hold the flashlight—quick!"

Edward stumbled to obey. Part of him wondered what the hurry was—she was dead, after all. Nothing could help her now. He winced slightly as he watched Carlisle clamber into the back of the vehicle, seemingly without a care for his clothes and the cause of the rancid smell. He reached the girl and touched her shoulder softly.

The beam of light bounced and danced around the enclosed space as Edward's hands shook on the flashlight. He grit his teeth, doing his best to hold steady as Carlisle gently took the girl's grimy, bare shoulder in his hand and slowly turned her onto her back. His hands sought the soft divot on the side of her throat where her pulse would throb, and he held there for a long moment. Edward scarcely dared to breathe until the tense set of his father's shoulders relaxed visibly in the quaking light.

"She's alive," Carlisle said, breathing deeply.

And somehow, that seemed to make the situation even worse. Edward swore under his breath. The shock of seeing a dead body—what he thought was a dead body—leeched away, replaced by pure anger. Fury that James—that anyone—could keep someone captive like this, could do something so horrible, twisted his insides. He put the flashlight down on the lowered tailgate of the truck and reached forward with steadier hands.

"Give her here."

Carlisle helped maneuver the girl toward Edward's waiting arms, and carefully the two of them eased her out of the confined space in which she'd been held prisoner—for how long, it was impossible to know. Once she was close enough Edward gathered her into his arms, pulling her free and holding her body against his chest. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and it was obvious that she was unconscious.

"She's so little," he murmured, gazing at the limp form huddled in his arms. Her skin was cold and pale—she looked dead even now. Carefully he stepped toward the bright, unforgiving floodlight in front of his house.

She _was_ small, though the shape of her body showed that she was no child. Her bones protruded in places they should not—knobby knees and wrists, jutting angles of hipbone and ribs. Even her face was gaunt, her cheeks sunken and hollow. Her skin felt filthy against his hands, greasy and grimy, and her long dark hair was a matted mess.

"Let's get her inside," Carlisle urged. "I'll run back to the house and get my bag."

"Shouldn't we call an ambulance?" Even as he said it, Edward knew he didn't particularly want to do so. The girl was like ice in his arms, and the thought of placing her in a cold, sterile hospital environment did not sit right with him, no matter how much he trusted his father and the medical establishment.

"Maybe," Carlisle said, "but not right now. It's important to get her warm, see if she regains consciousness. After that, we'll see."

That was perfectly acceptable to Edward's mind, and he smiled a little as he shifted his arms around the too-light girl he held. "Can I put her in a bath?" he asked.

"Yes," Carlisle affirmed, "if you take care to watch her head and make sure she doesn't go under."

That seemed reasonable to Edward. He just had one final question. "What about a rape kit? You always said—"

"I know," Carlisle said, and he put a gentle hand on the girl's bruised knee. "But it's more important right now to get her warm. Let's face it, son—she's naked and clearly being held against her will. I don't think there's any question of what's been happening to her."

Edward hated to admit it, but Carlisle was right. He tightened his arms around the cold body, ignoring the rank smell of her. It wasn't her fault. She could have been trapped in there for days—weeks—even longer. It was impossible to guess until she woke up and was able to tell them.

Carlisle squeezed the girl's knee gently before picking up his flashlight and heading back into the woods. Edward hurried into his house, laying the girl's still body carefully on the brown couch before he entered the bathroom and turned on the hot water full force.

Esme had refurbished this cabin only a year or so ago, and the deep whirlpool tub she'd insisted on hadn't seen much use. Edward preferred showers by far, and he did not bring girls home with him when he was at the cabin working. The tub was sparkling clean, though as he pulled out soap, shampoo, and washcloths, Edward knew it wasn't going to stay that way for long. The girl was filthy, and he aimed to do something about that as long as she was in the bath.

Once the water had warmed and deepened slightly, steam swirling in misty little curls in the damp air, Edward went to get the unconscious girl.

Except, she wasn't where he'd left her.

The couch was conspicuously empty, and Edward frowned as he stared at it in consternation. Where had she gone? She'd been unconscious just a few minutes ago when he set her down.

The door to the house was still open, but Edward doubted she could have gotten very far. Not in the shape she was in. He settled instead on searching the house. He ducked into the kitchen, glancing around the counter and under the table, before heading back into the living room.

He found her moments later, curled up in a tiny, shaking ball, wedged firmly between the back of the couch and the wall. Her head was buried in her knees, her arms clutching tightly at her legs as she shuddered, and he doubted the reason was cold. Slowly, Edward took a deep breath. She'd woken up in a strange place—of course she was terrified. After all she'd been through, things he couldn't even imagine, who wouldn't be?

"Hey," he said softly, trying to tamp down the anger that boiled over again at the thought of James and what unknown horrors he'd subjected this girl to. "Hey, can you hear me?"

She did not raise her head, but her trembling increased. It was obvious she'd heard him, and equally obvious that she wasn't planning on coming out anytime soon.

"I didn't think it was possible for even a kid to wedge themselves back there," he said, feeling a little lost as he tried to ease her fears. "You're so small. Just a little wisp of a girl."

At least it was clear that she was, in fact, alive. Edward tried to look on the bright side. When he first saw her, he'd assumed she was dead. Now embarrassed by his shock and having jumped to conclusions, he felt a deep need to help her. She wouldn't know the difference—she hadn't even been conscious when he first laid eyes on her. But that made no difference to Edward.

"Honey," he tried, kneeling down next to the space between the couch and the wall, trying to look and sound as non-threatening as possible. "Honey, calm down. It's okay. You're safe now. My name is Edward, and I'm going to take care of you."

She didn't respond, so Edward carefully reached out a hand and touched her toes lightly, where they protruded from the tight ball of the rest of her.

With a soft, unhappy squeal, she pulled her feet tighter in toward her body. Edward sighed and backed away for the moment. The bathtub must be about to spill over by this point. He hastened to shut off the water, making sure to keep the bathroom door closed to hold in the heat.

What could he do to lure her out from behind the couch? Edward thought about it, worrying the flesh of his lower lip between his teeth. He didn't want to act forcefully—move the couch, pick her up, and _make_ her obey. The poor thing was probably scared to death already, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare her more. Plus, he wanted her to be able to trust him. If he acted like James probably had, there was no way that would ever happen.

As he thought, Edward paced the short hall that led from the stairway to the kitchen and back again. On his third pass, his eyes alighted on a bunch of yellow bananas on the kitchen counter.

The tiny girl was emaciated—practically skin and bone. Maybe food could be used to gain her trust? He broke a banana off the bunch and started to peel it. The smell was sweet and fresh, just the thing, he hoped, to tempt her.

Taking the fruit with him, Edward knelt again near the back of the couch. "Hey," he said softly. "Are you hungry?"

She did not look up—did not acknowledge that she understood his words at all. Edward broke off a piece of the soft food in his hand and reached it toward her, wafting the sweet smell near her huddled knees where her face hid.

That did it.

Slowly her head moved, the tangled mess of dark hair shifting as she raised her gaze to see what was being offered. Huge brown eyes, wet with tears, blinked at him.

"Hi," Edward said, trying to reach his hand just a little further even though his arm was already fully extended. "My name is Edward, and I won't hurt you. Go on—take it."

His heartbeat thudded loud in his chest, one beat, then another. Those huge eyes flicked hesitantly between his eyes and his hand, clearly both suspicious of the offer and yearning for it.

"It's okay," he soothed, and his heart almost broke as he saw the unbridled desire in her eyes, how much she wanted the little piece of food and yet how terrified she was of taking it. "Nothing bad will happen to you here," he said, willing her to believe him.

She whimpered softly, only the second sound he'd heard her make, and stared imploringly at the fruit in Edward's hand.

"Shh," he crooned, his voice falling into a strange, soft register he'd never heard from himself before. "Don't be afraid."

Slowly, ever so slowly, her hand twitched. She did not let go of her tucked legs, but her hand definitely moved. Edward shifted his body carefully, moving his hand just that little bit further until he could brush the soft fruit against her pinky finger.

As if the touch of the food broke her willpower, the girl moved swiftly, like a little monkey. She snatched the small piece of banana with her hand, cramming it whole into her little mouth.

"Like that, huh?" Edward smiled in spite of the heartbreaking situation. She chewed desperately, cheeks bulged with the soft fruit. "Do you want some more?"

She swallowed quickly, and Edward took a step backward, breaking off another piece of banana and holding it toward her in his fingers. She would have to move toward him to reach it, but at least she was looking at him this time.

She eyed the soft white morsel held out toward her, mouth still working as if rolling the aftertaste of the first bite around, savoring it. Edward held still, his knees aching as he knelt next to the couch, watching her carefully. Her hands were just as filthy as the rest of her and he didn't really like handing her food to put in her mouth. But the relative dirtiness of her hands was probably the least of her problems, he figured, and he tried not to grimace as she put her finger in her mouth, licking the banana residue.

It felt like they were frozen in time, like every ragged breath exhaled from his lungs would rip the moment in two, but finally—finally—she shifted forward on her knees, holding out her shaking hand for the offered food.

"Good girl," Edward said softly, handing the bite to her. It disappeared quickly into her mouth as he expected, but to his surprise her eyes flicked up to his when he uttered those words, almost as if in recognition.

"Do you understand me?" he asked softly, watching as she chewed the soft food. "Good girl, you're so brave."

Again, a faint flicker that almost seemed to be understanding. Edward felt uncomfortable talking down to her, but she had yet to show signs of any sort of real comprehension when he spoke. He bit back a sigh and shuffled backward again, holding out another piece of banana. With this move, she would have to creep out from behind the couch and into the room. He didn't know if she would, but he hoped so.

"You can do it," he urged. "Good girl, I know you can."

She bit her chapped lower lip, gnawing worriedly as she stared at the fruit in Edward's hand.

"Shh, don't do that," he said, and without really thinking about it he reached forward to tug her lip free of her teeth.

The girl whimpered again, a breathy, frightened sound, and bit down harder. A bright seam of blood sprouted against her teeth, and Edward winced. That was what he'd hoped to avoid.

"No, honey," he said, frustration at his inability to help her boiling over. "Don't hurt yourself. Please."

She dodged away from his seeking hand, cringing back into her huddled ball, and Edward swore under his breath. It seemed that this was going to take much longer than he'd initially thought. Maybe he should just wait for Carlisle?

But the girl was cold, her skin pale and blue-tinged as she shivered behind the couch, and Edward desperately wanted to calm her, soothe her, make her feel better. He didn't seem able to help her mental pain since she wasn't paying attention to his words, but if she just let him take her to a hot bath, he felt sure they could ease some of her physical pain.

"What can I do, honey?" he asked, tugging at his hair in frustration. "I just want to help."

She didn't answer, nor did he expect her to.

With a sigh, Edward took the rest of the banana and placed it gently by her huddled feet. "There," he said. Luring her out from behind the couch didn't seem to be working anyway, and he couldn't bear to deny her the food just because she was afraid. "It's yours. You can eat it. It's okay."

Her hands grabbed the half-peeled banana and pulled it tight against her chest. Those huge dark eyes flicked up to him again, her pale lips smeared with red where she'd bitten herself too hard. She flicked her eyes back and forth from his eyes to the fruit in her hand. Edward hardly dared to breathe, standing still as she looked at him. How was he supposed to look trustworthy? Was there even such a thing?

"I won't hurt you," he said again, trying to soothe the jagged fear he saw in those soft, dark eyes. "You sweet little wisp of a girl—how could I possibly? How could anyone?"

But someone had, and badly. That was more than obvious, and Edward quivered with anger at the thought of it. What horrible things must she have endured, to make her act so afraid?

She cradled the banana close to her chest, not eating it, and Edward wondered whether she was trying to save it or just was too afraid to take her eyes off him. Slowly he let his eyes travel across her huddled form, gaunt and trembling. She was a mess of bruises, but the delicate features of her gentle face were disturbingly lovely, even so.

"You don't ever have to be afraid of me," he said softly, more to hear his own voice than anything else. "I just want to help you. Wouldn't you like a bath?"

At the word _bath_, her eyes flicked up and she cocked her head to the side in a listening posture, almost like a confused puppy. It was the biggest reaction she'd shown yet to anything he'd said, and Edward felt a surge of hope rise up tight in his chest. "Bath," he said again, slow and clear. "Bath, little wisp. Would you like one?"

She did not answer with words, but after a moment Edward saw her shift slightly on the floor. She tucked her banana under her chin and lifted trembling arms toward Edward.

It was the action of a small child, but the meaning was abundantly clear. Edward stood, making each motion as slow and careful as possible, and reached toward her. She did not pull away, though he heard her breath catch in her throat when his fingers traced lightly along her bare arms.

"I won't hurt you," he repeated, and he carefully shifted his grip and lifted her into his arms.

She was still cold, and her breaths were short and ragged as his arms closed around her.

"Poor baby," he crooned, shifting his weight on his feet, rocking her slightly as he held her. "You're all right now. You're fine. Beautiful little wisp."

She did not respond, gripping his shirt tightly with one fist and her banana with the other. Her eyes were soft and wide, taking in the rustic interior of the cabin in wordless wonder.

"It's not much," Edward said, smiling at the awe in her eyes, "but it's home. I don't know how long you'll be here, but I hope you'll be comfortable."

Carefully he opened the bathroom door with the hand behind her back, slipping into the warmth of the room. She gasped, the sound soft and sweet, at the retro black and white checkered tile floor, the huge bathtub, separate shower stall, and everything else. She looked particularly interested in the oval mirror over the sink, which was clouded with steam from the heat of the room.

"It's probably best that you can't see yourself right now," Edward said gently, hugging her close as her skin rippled in the warm, damp air. "I'll let you look after we get you cleaned up. Is that okay?"

She looked at him blankly, as if he'd asked a question in a foreign language. Edward sighed inwardly. Right. Too many words, not enough action.

"Bath," he said again, reminding her of their task, before stepping over to the tub. He sat on the wide edge, dangling her feet over the hot water. "It will feel good, I promise."

She was worrying her lower lip again, but Edward didn't dare try to stop her this time. He shifted her weight on his lap so her toes dipped ever so slightly in the water. She gasped, turning her head to stare at him wide-eyed.

"What?" he asked as she dipped her foot further into the water. "Did you expect it to be cold?"

_Probably_ his mind answered, and Edward grimaced inwardly. He held still, supporting her carefully as she slipped her feet into the water. She kicked a little, sloshing the water softly as if she didn't quite believe it was real. Her eyes flicked up to Edward's again, big and wondering, as if asking permission.

"Yes," he confirmed, trying to smile reassuringly at her. "It's for you, honey. Go on."

She did, letting Edward support and balance her as she slid into the water. A deep, shuddering sigh was torn from her lungs as he lay her back against the side of the tub and she sank chin-deep in the hot water. One hand still grasped her banana—slightly smashed and disfigured by now—and she looked up at Edward shyly, holding it toward him as if in entreaty.

"Yes," he said, not really sure how much she understood, and he tried to smile again. He pushed the fruit back toward her in a gesture he hoped was universal. "It's yours. I won't take it away from you."

She sat up straighter, holding the fruit in both hands as she quickly wrestled the peel away from the soft insides.

"Easy," Edward said, smiling gently at her fixed determination to get to the food. "Don't make yourself sick."

She ignored him, inhaling a huge mouthful of banana, her cheeks puffing around the big bite as she struggled to chew. Edward chuckled softly, and that was how Carlisle found them about thirty seconds later.

"What have we here?" he asked, hesitating in the doorway.

The girl froze, her jaw stilling and her eyes growing wide as she jerked her head toward the new voice. A short whimper escaped her mouth and she shuddered in the water, scrambling away from the sight of Carlisle in the doorway.

"Easy, little wisp," Edward said, holding his hands out toward her in a gesture he hoped was soothing. "Carlisle is my father. He won't hurt you."

But she did not calm down, hugging herself against the far end of the tub, curling up again into a defensive ball. The last of her banana fell from her hand into the water with a splash, and she did not even attempt to retrieve it. A soft, high-pitched keening noise tore from her throat, and she buried her head against her knees again.

"Whoa there," Carlisle said, stepping cautiously into the room. He closed the door behind him so the steam wouldn't escape, then sat down quickly against the door. "Frightened little thing."

"Poor girl." Edward nearly growled. "No human being should be treated like she's been. I don't even know what happened and I know that much."

"I didn't expect her to be awake," Carlisle said, watching her from his spot against the wall.

"I didn't either," Edward said. "I went to fill the bathtub, and when I got back to her she'd wedged herself behind the couch and wouldn't come out." He took a deep breath and leaned toward the girl, fishing the ruined bit of banana and peel out of the water. She watched him suspiciously from under her arm, but did not attempt to stop him. "I tried to lure her out with food."

"Has she said anything?"

Edward shook his head regretfully. "I'm not even sure she understands most words. She seemed to recognize _bath_—that's how I got her in here. But that's it."

"Miss?" Carlisle said, raising his voice slightly. "Miss, my name is Carlisle Cullen. I'm a doctor. Can you hear me?"

She trembled in the water, but did not otherwise respond. Edward could almost see the frightened thrum of her pulse in her throat, the quick, terrified rush of blood beneath thin, tender skin. His heart went out to her, but he didn't know how to help her.

"Little wisp," he said softly, and he touched her shoulder gently. "Oh, honey, you're okay. You're safe now."

In the ensuing silence, the sound of Carlisle opening his bag and rifling through the contents was loud.

"Carlisle, we can't take her to a busy hospital," Edward said quietly, stroking his hand with the lightest of touches over her damp shoulder. "She'll die of fright."

"You can't actually die of fright," Carlisle said mildly, though he did not otherwise refute Edward's statement.

"Maybe I couldn't," Edward said, "but don't you dare tell me she can't."

"I want to push a little bit." Carlisle slipped his stethoscope around his neck and stuck a pen light in his breast pocket. "See what she will and won't allow."

"Carlisle, don't scare her any more," Edward pleaded, and his father figure flashed him a sympathetic smile.

"I'm afraid that's inevitable, son," he said quietly. "She's terrified of everything right now."

The girl huddled in the far corner of the bath as Carlisle crept closer. He sat on the edge of the tub, much like Edward was, and reached out a hand toward her.

She squealed, a sound that was definitely not happy, and tried to jerk away from the gentle touch. There was nowhere for her to go, as she was trapped in the corner of both the room and the tub, and she cried out piteously.

"Shh, little wisp," Edward tried to soothe as Carlisle pulled his hand back. "Carlisle, stop! This isn't right."

Carlisle sighed. "You touched her," he said, glancing at his son. "I wonder what the difference is?"

"James has light hair, like you," Edward said slowly, giving the only answer he could come up with. "Maybe she—"

"Edward, look."

He turned toward the girl, who had rolled herself into an even tighter ball at the sound of James' name. She clutched her arms tightly around her legs even as a telltale yellow stain seeped into the water below her.

"She can't help it," Carlisle sighed, moving away from the tub again. "If she's terrified to the point of incontinence, any test I do right now will be pointless anyway. Best to get her clean, and I'll see if I can't slip her something to help her sleep. Then I can give her a quick examination without causing undue stress."

"I don't like the thought of doing something without her permission," Edward said slowly.

"I don't, either, but you have to weigh the costs against the benefits," Carlisle said with a sigh. "We need to know if there's something medically wrong with her—something that needs treatment either here or at the hospital."

"I know," Edward said softly, looking toward the terrified girl huddled in the corner of the big tub. "I just…" He shook his head. "Okay. But we'll need to let the water out and—"

"Leave it," Carlisle suggested. "She's so dehydrated she couldn't have passed much, and I can guarantee the water will be filthy anyway once she starts to scrub. You can fill up the tub a second time or put her under the shower for a final rinse after she's clean."

"Me?" Edward said warily, glancing at his uncle.

"Well, she's terrified of me," Carlisle said simply.

"What about Esme?"

"Asleep. I didn't want to wake her if I didn't have to. Let her have a full night's sleep before she has to face this nightmare."

Edward tugged on his hair again. "It's practically morning," he said, though he wasn't arguing. Truthfully, he was happy to do whatever needed to be done to help this girl. And, realistically, he'd already seen and touched her naked body. Whatever else she might be, she didn't seem upset about that.

"I'll rummage in the kitchen and see what I can find to crush a pill into," Carlisle said, rising slowly to his feet. "A banana was a good idea—bland starches aren't a nutritional ideal, but they'll be easy on her stomach if she hasn't had food for a while."

"_If_ she hasn't?" Edward asked, raising one eyebrow.

Carlisle acknowledged the jab with a shrug. "We can't know anything yet, son. Let's try to keep the assumptions to a minimum until she's able to tell us what really happened to her."

He left the bathroom quickly, and Edward smiled softly as the terrified girl peeked slowly out from her hiding place at the noise of the door.

"It's just you and me again," he soothed her. "Everything is okay. You don't have to see J—" He stopped himself before saying the name, remembering what it had done to her before. "You don't have to see him ever again, little wisp. Never."

He dipped a white washcloth in the hot water, then lathered it up with soap. Thank goodness for bleach—otherwise his washcloths and towels might never be the same again. Smiling encouragingly, he reached out slowly and touched the girl's near arm.

"I won't hurt you," he reiterated. "Let's get you clean, huh? It will feel good; I promise."

She watched him with those big brown eyes, neither moving toward him nor shrinking away, and Edward ran the soapy washcloth along her arm.

"See?" he said. "Nothing scary about that, right? Do you think maybe I could have your hand?"

Edward extended his own hand, wiggling his fingers, and slowly, slowly, the girl unwound one of her arms and copied the gesture. He grinned, sliding his hand under hers for support, and began washing her gently, starting with the tips of her fingers. The cloth moved against her skin in soft circular motions, dipping to clean the grime trapped between her fingers, and all the while she watched him. There was still wariness in her eyes, but it was overlaid with a kind of astonished awe, as if she couldn't quite believe what was happening to her.

"Good girl," Edward soothed, remembering how she had reacted to the words before. A quiver that did not quite seem like a frightened tremble rippled through her delicate body, and he smiled. "I won't hurt you. This isn't scary." Whether she understood his words or not, he hoped the soft tone might soothe her at least a little.

Even her fingers were skinny, the nails short and jagged as if she bit them habitually. He rubbed her palm, turning her hand over to expose the soft white underside of her arm. Her skin was so pale that he could see the blue and purple lines of her veins clearly. "You're nearly translucent," he murmured, being careful as he washed a dark bruise near her elbow. She didn't utter a sound, and Edward traced his fingers across the tender inside of her wrist, tickling her gently. She shuddered, her eyes confused as she raised them to his.

"It's called a tickle," he told her uncertainly. "If you don't like it, I won't do it again."

But she made no motion or sound to tell him if she did, one way or another. Edward traced his fingers across the soft skin one last time, then continued washing up her arm. She had the softest pale downy hair on her forearms, light and wispy, in contrast to the dark mess of hair on her head.

"Hey, can we turn you a little bit?" Edward asked softly, and he coaxed her to shift her position in the tub. He wanted her to sit with her back to him, but she refused to go that far. Giving up, Edward settled for halfway, slowly swirling the soapy cloth over her shoulders, under the mass of dark hair. Adding more soapy lather when necessary and changing out dirty washcloths twice, Edward managed to scrub most of the girl's frail body. She did not want to turn her back on him but otherwise complied as he moved her, even kneeling in the water and sitting on the edge of the tub so he could reach submerged sections of flesh. Everywhere, he found traces of long-standing abuse—bruises of varying colors, old scars that had healed poorly due to insufficient care. She was curiously hairless except for her forearms and her head, and Edward frowned as he scrubbed at a particularly dirty spot on her calf—it felt like engine grease or something just as bad. At first he wondered if perhaps she was younger than originally assumed. Her legs, underarms, even the soft skin between her legs were smooth and hairless. But the shape of her narrow waist and sloping hipbones, in addition to the gentle swell of her small breasts, spoke of a girl who ought to have some body hair at least. Even small children had soft peach fuzz on their legs, but this girl had nothing—a sure sign that she either had some sort of medical condition or, more likely, it had been purposefully removed. There was no sign of stubble, so she likely wasn't shaved—she was far too dirty to have gone through hair removal in the past couple of days. But waxing, electrolysis, and laser removal were still reasonable assumptions.

He was a little nervous as he approached the apex of her thighs with the washcloth—she sat on the edge of the tub, propping herself up carefully with her hands. This was _so_ inappropriate, but she did not seem any more uncomfortable than her normal state, and she did not try to stop him. Edward took a deep breath and let it out, looking up and finding her eyes.

"Little wisp," he said, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Is it okay if I clean between your legs? If you say no, I won't. But I really think you'll feel better if you're completely clean."

She cocked her head to the side again, as if questioning his words. There was no sign of comprehension on her face.

"I'm sorry," he murmured softly. "Whatever that monster did to you, little wisp, I'm sorry."

The girl said nothing, and Edward grit his teeth as he slipped the soft cloth between her legs, washing her as gently as he could.

She whimpered slightly, and Edward stilled his hand, searching her face for a clue to her feelings. A grimace passed over her delicate features, but she did not attempt to pull away.

"Does that hurt?" he asked, using his free hand to rub her knee gently. "Or do you just not like me touching there?"

But there was no answer, nor did he expect one. She looked at him with big, damp eyes, her swollen lower lip trembling slightly, and Edward couldn't bear that tortured look. He withdrew the cloth carefully, his eyes locked with hers the entire time.

"Oh, little wisp," he said quietly. "I wish I knew what to do for you."

An idea hatched in his head, and Edward dipped the cloth back in the water, lathering it up again with fresh soap. Then, very deliberately, he took her hand and placed the washcloth in it.

Her huge eyes grew even bigger and her skin paled slightly as she stared at him, staring in consternation at the cloth in her hand.

"Go on," Edward urged. "You know how to touch yourself so it won't hurt. You can do it."

She frowned in confusion, her eyes traveling back and forth between Edward and the cloth in her hand. Slowly she raised it and placed the washcloth on Edward's arm, rubbing gently.

Edward chuckled at the misunderstanding, moving her hand away from his arm with a gentle pat. "No, little wisp. Wash yourself. Go on." He touched her thigh, the skin shuddering under his hand. "Here. Can you do that?"

Slowly, each movement halting and hesitant as if she were afraid of being punished for it, she drew the cloth between her legs. Edward watched how carefully she touched her own body, and the wince that still stole over her features when the cloth made contact. Clearly she was hurt—maybe not in a medical sense, but at least in a practical one. She washed slowly, grimacing as her hand pushed further between her legs. Edward shushed her, afraid she was doing more than necessary in order to please him, and eased her back in the water to wash away the suds.

"You're such a brave girl," he praised, smiling at her. "So strong."

She did not respond, as he knew she wouldn't. She seemed to like his tone of voice when he praised her, though, so he continued to talk softly to her as he pulled the plug and let the water swirl out of the tub.

"I know," he said as she began to shiver in the damp, misty room. "I know, and you can have some fresh water in a minute. You were so dirty that the old water just wasn't helping anymore."

She said nothing, merely watched him with sad eyes as her water swirled away. Edward hated when she looked at him like that. There wasn't even any reproach or anger in her gaze, just deep, unwavering sadness.

"Please don't look at me that way," he said, though he knew by now that it probably wouldn't make a bit of difference. "I'll get you new water—nice, hot water—and then we can try to tackle your hair."

She turned her head to watch the last of the dirty water swirl down the drain, heaving a deep, long-suffering sigh. Edward touched her shoulder, trying to soothe her any way he could, and plugged the tub again. He turned on the water, and she put her finger in her mouth like a small child in surprised delight as the warmth spilled across her toes and slithered up her legs. She shivered happily, dropping her hands to plunge into the heat as the water level rose.

"I've never seen someone so enchanted with a bath before," Edward said, smiling softly. "Little wisp of a mermaid, that's what you are. I don't care how pruny your fingers get—you're still just about the most adorable thing I've ever seen."

His words took Edward by surprise. It was mindless chatter, more for his own benefit than hers, and he hadn't paid attention to what came out of his mouth until it was over and done with. Now he considered the words carefully as he swirled the water around with his hand, making sure it didn't get too hot for her tender skin. Adorable? Yes, actually, she was. She was a beautiful young woman, even emaciated and covered with the visible marks of terrible abuse. Not only that, but her childlike actions and the way her big brown eyes watched him kindled something inside him—a strange protectiveness he'd never felt before for anyone.

She did not seem particularly willing to lie back in the water, dousing her head, and Edward couldn't stand arguing the point with her when those big wet eyes looked at him so imploringly. Instead, he retrieved a plastic cup from the kitchen and used it to pour water carefully over her head.

"How's it going?" Carlisle asked as Edward pulled the vessel from the cupboard.

Edward shrugged. He didn't want to leave her alone, and he was feeling antsy, high on adrenaline and lack of sleep. "She has no body hair, Carlisle—did you notice?"

"I wasn't really looking." The older man stirred a pot bubbling on the stove—Edward peered inside and saw that he was boiling potatoes.

"Mashed potatoes?"

"Mm-hm." Carlisle covered a yawn. "Something bland—just some empty calories to soothe her stomach. Depending on how long she's been without food, she may not tolerate the reintroduction well. I'll have to get in touch with the hospital nutritionist and see what the best course of treatment will be."

There was more to be said, but Edward wanted to get back to the girl in the bathtub, just in case anything happened. She seemed willing and able to sit unassisted, but he'd never forgive himself if an injury occurred that he could have prevented.

But when he opened the door and slipped inside, she looked about as content as he'd ever seen her. She was sitting quietly in the tub, leaned back against the slanted back, and was examining her own clean fingers closely.

"Hi," Edward said, feeling a little out of place even though he was in his own home. Walking in on a girl in a bathtub wasn't exactly something he was used to doing. Especially a stranger. "You know I'm not one for barging in on girls, right?" he said uncertainly.

She had whipped her head around to stare at the door when it opened, but upon seeing Edward, she settled back into the tub slightly, her muscles relaxing from her previous tense posture.

"I know," he sighed. "I know. You're still not sure about me, though you like me better than Carlisle."

She did not respond.

"Come on, let's work on that hair of yours."

She did not resist as he dipped the cup in the bath water, trickling the warm liquid carefully over her hair. He cupped his free hand over her forehead, shielding her eyes in a reflexive gesture. The girl sat still, her legs drawn up to her chest and her arms clasped around them. It was a tense, uncomfortable posture, but she wasn't crying and she didn't seem to be trembling so much anymore either.

Her hair was a mess—a matted tangle of greasy brown strands that he didn't know what to do with. With a frown, he decided to just jump in. What harm could it do now? He squirted a giant handful of shampoo into his palm, then went to work on the briar patch of hair, scrubbing and kneading the shampoo into as much as he could. She did not complain, even when he knew he pulled, and when his hands climbed to her scalp, scratching carefully, she shuddered in a way that looked and felt an awful lot like pleasure.

"Do you like that?" he asked, easing his fingers along the sides of her head, above her little ears. "I know I do." No one had washed Edward's hair for him since he was old enough to do it himself, but one of his former girlfriends had been a massage therapist and he could well remember how it felt when she wove her hands through his hair, making him want to purr as her talented fingers massaged his scalp. Glad that perhaps he could give even a hint of that pleasure to the scared girl before him, he smiled and continued the gentle touch. "You're going to be okay now, you know," he said softly. "Whatever you want—whatever you need. We're here for you. _I'm_ here for you."

She looked at him cautiously, so carefully that Edward almost swore she had understood him. "Oh, little one," he said softly. "What happened to you?"

But she did not answer, and Edward was forced to accept that for the moment, there would be no resolution to the current situation. He dipped the cup again and began rinsing the shampoo out of her hair.

A second lather and subsequent rinse did wonders for the cleanliness of her hair, but nothing for the tangles. Edward shook his head slightly as he let the water out for a second time, wrapping the snarled mess of hair in a soft white towel. She shivered and gazed at him, and the heartbroken expression on her face was too much. Edward rubbed her shoulder, then offered her another towel, giving her the option of climbing out of the tub on her own. "I know you love the warm water, little wisp," he said, trying to smile. "But you can't stay in there forever. Look at your fingers—they're already pruning."

She didn't attempt to leave the tub, but Edward didn't think it was a matter of stubbornness. Rather, she looked as if she was waiting for something. Curious, he stepped back a little more and shook the towel gently.

"Come on," he urged. "You can do it."

Whether she could or not became a moot point, though, since she wouldn't. Instead, she shivered as the water receded, her trembling becoming more pronounced and her skin breaking out in big goose bumps.

"Okay," Edward said finally, when he couldn't stand to watch her shiver anymore. "Okay. Come here." With that, he gathered her up in his arms, wrapping her shivering body in the white towel, settling her on the wide edge of the whirlpool tub. "We're going to have to figure out what's going on with you, little wisp."

She merely shivered, huddling into herself as he toweled her dry. Clean, her skin was marvelously soft, almost translucent in its purity. Edward dabbed softly at her swollen lower lip with a clean edge of washcloth, cleaning away dried blood.

"You're already hurt enough," he said softly. "Please try not to hurt yourself even more?" After wrapping her up again, Edward picked her up in his arms. She did not seem particularly inclined to walk on her own, and he wasn't entirely sure she _could. _Since she wasn't recoiling from his physical touch anymore, Edward was more than happy to hold her close to his chest. She still shivered, and Edward planned to turn up the heat in his cabin once he bundled her into some clothes.

"Let's get you warm," he suggested, carrying her up the stairs to his bedroom.

* * *

_A/N: I mentioned in the first chapter that there are a number of stories here about Bella being kept as a pet by evil vampires, and then rescued by the Cullens. Mine is a little different because this is an all human story, but if you're interested, here's a list of the others in the genre that I know of._

Finding Bella by Wishingforlove81: As far as I know, this is the first one written. It is not finished and I suspect has been abandoned, but I still consider it the best.

Survival of the Soul by Lady Saffir: Also not complete.

Saving You by Cullensgirl90: Also not complete (sensing a pattern here?)

_Again, anything I mention here may or may not be well-written or ever finished. There might be violence, rape, and other uncomfortable elements. I'm just stating other stories that I know of with similar plotlines. Thanks for the interest in this little plot bunny of mine!_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Aw, thanks for the reviews, guys! It's so sweet that you're concerned for poor Bella! For those of you wondering why they didn't call the police right away, your answer is in this chapter. ;-)_

_This is also just about the end of what I have written, so I can't promise when the next update will be._

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

After wrapping her up again, Edward picked her up in his arms. She did not seem particularly inclined to walk on her own, and he wasn't entirely sure she _could. _Since she wasn't recoiling from his physical touch anymore, Edward was more than happy to hold her close to his chest. She still shivered, and Edward planned to turn up the heat in his cabin once he bundled her into some clothes.

"Let's get you warm," he suggested, carrying her up the stairs to his bedroom. There was a guest room he would use for her, but the only clothes in the house were in his dresser.

She held on to him, eyes wide as she took in the staircase and the hallway, and Edward hesitated before pushing open his door with his hip. He wasn't at all sure if the sight of a bed might set her off again, if everything he was seeing added up to sexual abuse, as it looked like. But he couldn't very well ask her to wait outside, and so with an inward shrug he stepped into the room.

Grey dawn light filtered through the window, and Edward could feel her peering around closely though after the bright light of the bathroom she was probably effectively blind. He set her on the floor, not wanting to risk the bed yet, tucking the folds of towel over her shoulders to try to hold in her body heat.

"Just hold tight," he said softly, "and I'll get you something to wear."

She didn't answer, but she did reach up with a trembling hand to clutch the towel, holding it close.

Edward watched her for a moment, her pale skin aglow in the dim pre-dawn, and after a moment he shifted to the dresser to find her clothes.

Digging through his drawers of comfortable lounging and sleep clothes, he pulled out a soft, long-sleeved thermal shirt and a pair of navy flannel checkered pants with a drawstring. They would probably look ridiculous on her, but it was better than nothing.

"Hey now," he said, kneeling before her. He switched on a soft golden reading lamp, watching her blink sweetly in the sudden light. "I know it's not great, but what do you think about these?"

She didn't answer, and when he held the navy blue shirt out to her like an offering, she did not seem to know what to do with it. Her smooth forehead wrinkled and she glanced at him curiously.

"Don't tell me he never let you wear clothes," Edward said softly. "Oh, honey..."

Whether she refused to take the shirt because she didn't know what it was for, or out of fear of reprisal, it was impossible to tell. Edward sighed and tugged the white towel away from her shivering skin. She gazed longingly at it as he took the damp cloth away, but she did not try to snatch it back.

"I know," he said softly. "I know, honey. We'll get you warm if you help me with these clothes."

Holding the shirt as a mother would for a toddler, he eased it over her head. She tensed as Edward and the room disappeared from her view, but calmed again as her head popped out of the neck hole.

"It's okay," Edward said with a chuckle. "I won't hurt you. You're fine, even if you can't see what's going on."

But it was obvious she did not believe that—nor should she, Edward thought with a sigh. No matter what else she might have learned from James, fear was definitely on the agenda. Edward helped her pull her arms into the right places, rolling up the sleeves around her delicate wrists. He held her right hand cupped in both of his for a long moment, gazing at the fragile fingers, now clean and soft. "You're so beautiful," he said quietly. "I guess it hasn't done you any favors, though, huh?"

No, it hadn't. That was clear enough. Edward bit back a frustrated noise as he helped the girl into his flannel pajama pants. Getting them up on her hips while she was sitting down was definitely awkward, but they managed, and he tied the drawstring firmly around her waist. She drowned in his clothes, but at least she wouldn't freeze. And while her nakedness did not seem to faze her, she was allowed some modesty now as well.

"There," Edward said with a smile. "How does that feel?"

She slowly wrapped her arms around herself, hugging the clothes close to her body as if in awed wonder.

"How about some socks?" Edward asked, looking at her little feet. He patted one, feeling the chill of her skin even so soon after her long bath. He found a thick pair of clean socks meant for hiking and slipped them over her feet. The contoured heel rose well up her leg, and Edward laughed as he saw how ridiculous she looked. To his shock, when he laughed a flicker of something resembling a smile danced across her lips.

"That's adorable," he said softly. "You know, you're even prettier when you smile."

She didn't answer, but neither did she pull her foot away from his hands when he rubbed it.

"Shall we get you a little more to eat?" Edward questioned, giving her an encouraging smile. "Carlisle's down there, but you don't have to be afraid of him, little wisp. He's a good man, and a doctor. All he wants is for you to feel better."

She continued to hug herself, and Edward bit back a sigh. In time. She'd only known them...maybe a couple of hours? He had to give her time.

Slowly he moved, offering her his arms. She let him pick her up again without a fuss, for which Edward was glad. If every interaction with her was as difficult as coaxing her out from behind the couch, this situation would be ten times harder than otherwise.

"Good girl," he said softly, cuddling her close to his chest. She smelled much better now, though it was a little odd to breathe in the scent of _his_ Irish Spring soap and _his_ masculine shampoo emanating from a girl. They'd have to get her something more feminine—or at least unisex—if she was staying.

As she raised her big, soft brown eyes to him again, a hesitant curiosity shining in their depths, Edward felt a startling desire for her to indeed stay. She was so soft, so oddly innocent despite all he _knew_ must have happened to her. The desire to protect her, to be the one to show her a different way of life, was strong.

"I wish I knew if you understood me," he said with a wistful sigh. "I hate talking down to you as if you're a baby. You're not a baby—you know that, right? You're an adult woman, or close to it. You're strong, and capable, and even though you aren't talking, I just know you're intelligent." Actually, he knew no such thing, but it felt nice to praise something other than her beauty.

She continued to look at him with her wide, dark eyes, giving absolutely no hint that she understood a word he said. Edward cracked a small, mirthless smile.

"I know," he said. "I know. Patience is a virtue. I just wish I knew better how to help you."

With that, he took her down the stairs, heading in the direction of the kitchen. He tightened his arms on her little body, wrapped in his clothes. Edward had no idea if she found his presence soothing, but he hoped so. Especially since she would now be faced with Carlisle again, and she had not reacted well to him the first time.

Carefully stepping through the doorway, Edward looked around for his father.

"I'm in here," Carlisle called from the living room. The girl's head whipped toward the unfamiliar voice and she tensed in Edward's arms, clutching his shoulders tightly. He could feel her pulse begin to race, see the soft panting quality of her quick breaths as her fear escalated. "I thought it would be best if she didn't see me. Feed her from the bowl on the counter, but don't _you_ eat it. You'll be no use to me unconscious."

Carlisle had made enough mashed potatoes for quite a few meals, but the portion left on the counter was pitifully small, maybe half a cup at most. Edward hesitated, the girl still held tight in his arms, and looked at the little bowl doubtfully. She had hesitantly lifted her head to sniff the air, breathing in the starchy, warm smell of food despite her fear of Carlisle's voice.

"That's not very much," Edward said loud enough for his voice to carry into the adjoining room.

"If her digestive tract isn't used to eating, we need to start with very small portions and train it to work again. If we give her too much, she'll just vomit it up again."

"Can I give her some water?"

"Yes, but again, just a little—eight ounces or so. Once she's asleep I'll give her some IV fluids to help keep her hydrated."

Edward's mouth thinned into a line, though he walked carefully toward the table as he held his slight burden. He was not a fan of doing things behind people's backs, and this girl in particular had had so much taken away from her, he desperately did not want to follow suit. But what could he do? Carlisle needed to be able to examine her and tend to her medical care, and she was too afraid right now to allow it.

"It will be okay," he told her quietly, moving to settle her in a chair.

But the girl's eyes widened in fear and consternation as he put her down, and she immediately stiffened her spine and slid to the floor, kneeling next to the chair rather than sitting on it. A low whimper tore from her mouth, and she huddled stiffly next to the table.

"Little wisp?" Edward asked. "What's the matter?"

She did not answer, just continued to kneel miserably on the floor next to the table. Edward was at a loss. Why on earth would she be so adamant about not sitting in a chair? Did she not know how? But that was absurd, and besides, she had sat on the edge of the tub with no problem. It could not, then, be an issue with her balance or physical ability, and he didn't really believe a human being could make it to her age without knowing how to sit in a chair. Wasn't that practically instinctual or something? He wasn't an anthropologist, but still.

The only other reason his mind could come up with was that, when she lived with James, the girl must not have been permitted to use the furniture as it was meant to be used. She'd scuttled off the couch as soon as she woke, and that hadn't seemed so odd until it turned into something suspiciously like a pattern. No couch, no chair.

"What did he do to you?" Edward murmured, reaching out to touch the clean, tangled mass of her dark hair. She eyed him warily, but did not flinch away from his hand. "I won't feed you on the floor like an animal. I'm sorry, little wisp, but I just can't." He tapped the back of the chair with his fingers, thinking over his predicament for a long moment. There was only one thing he could think of to try, and he wasn't at all sure it would work. But she had to get some food in her belly, and she wouldn't let Carlisle look at her while she was conscious.

"Okay, little wisp," Edward said finally. "We're going to try something."

He filled a glass half full of water from the refrigerator dispenser, retrieved a spoon from the drawer, and set the little bowl of mashed potato at the table, just where she'd refused to sit. Then, carefully, he lifted her huddled body into his arms again and sat in the chair, pulling her onto his lap.

Her smooth brow furrowed in confusion, but she did not try to wiggle away from him. She looked at the little bowl of soft, buttery potatoes and then back at Edward as if trying to figure out what he wanted.

"You're not going to eat on your own, are you?" he asked, touching her cheek gently. "Come on. Let's see what we can make of this." Slowly he spooned up some of the fluffy white mixture, and he held the mouthful close to her lips. "Come on," he urged. "I know you're hungry."

Her eyes traveled back and forth between the spoon and Edward's face, as if looking for the answer to this puzzle. She frowned slightly, her breathing increasing again as she grew troubled.

"Do you want to do it yourself?" Edward asked. With his free hand, he pulled up one of hers and placed the spoon in it. "Please, by all means. That would make it less awkward for both of us."

She held the piece of flatware awkwardly, as if she was unused to such an item. Edward let her mind work over this odd turn of events, holding still and saying nothing. Finally, a frown of intense concentration still affixed to her delicate features, she turned the spoon and pushed its contents toward Edward's mouth, just as he had to her.

Edward bit back a sigh, covering her hand with his. He squeezed gently, maneuvered the spoon back to her mouth, and touched the soft food against her lips. "Open," he said quietly. "Come on, you can do it. I know you're confused, but it will be okay."

Still frowning furiously, she did. Edward eased the spoon past her chapped lips, and there was an awkward moment as neither of them could figure out what to do next. He didn't want to just pull the spoon out again, since she did not seem to be using her mouth to take the food instinctively. She stilled for several seconds, then bit down, her teeth clamping on the spoon. It took several tries before the spooning process went smoothly, the utensil disappearing into her mouth and coming out clean.

If the medicine-laced potatoes tasted odd, she gave no indication. She swallowed what Edward presented to her, seeming disinclined to handle the spoon herself but eagerly watching each bite as it neared her mouth. When the small bowl was empty, Edward tried handing her the glass of water. This, at least, she seemed to know what to do with, though she used both hands like a toddler to hold the glass to her mouth. She swallowed thirstily, draining the water in a few frantic gulps, and Edward wished he could give her more. Hopefully the IV fluids Carlisle promised would help her feel better.

"How do you feel now?" he asked, holding her in his lap. She blinked at him, her lips moist, and he could almost see whatever drug Carlisle had given her taking effect. Her soft eyelids, framed by thick lashes, lowered sleepily, and her head lolled to rest heavily against his shoulder. Within a few minutes, it was clear that she was asleep.

Edward took the opportunity to study her in the warm kitchen light. She was still extremely pale, though there was a soft, almost translucent glow to her skin now that it was clean. Her delicate features—slender nose, prominent cheekbones—were lovely, but there was no trace of the haughty, cruel kind of beauty that many attractive women acquired. She did not look mean, or worldly, or anything of the sort.

She did, however, look exhausted. Edward hoped she would sleep peacefully and feel better when she woke. Poor thing. They had a lot to do still to help her, and Carlisle's examination was first on the list.

Picking her up carefully, Edward headed into the living room. He was surprised to see a very worried Emmett sitting beside his father, but he didn't complain. Emmett was on the police force, and this was undoubtedly a police matter.

"Edward, man," Emmett said quickly, his normally booming voice thankfully hushed. "I'm so, so sorry. If I had any idea—"

"I know," Edward said, laying the girl down on the couch as Carlisle and Emmett swiftly moved out of the way. "I'm just glad it was me instead of Rosalie who found her."

"I think we're all glad of that," Carlisle said softly. He knelt on the floor next to the couch, touching the girl's hands lightly.

"What did you give her?" Edward asked, settling near his father.

"Enough Ativan to hopefully keep her calm even if she happens to wake up," Carlisle replied. "Though she's pretty deeply asleep; I doubt she will."

Edward nodded absently, watching as Emmett pulled out a video recorder and placed it on the back of the couch, where it could observe the entire procedure. He was a dutiful cop, but not so good with taking notes. Thankfully, the technological revolution seemed to have finally penetrated the Forks police force, and nobody minded that he preferred to digitally record things whenever possible. It was good evidence, too—video testimony would always outweigh eyewitness reports, even those of a cop.

"Unfortunately, since she's unconscious, I won't be able to ask her any questions," Carlisle said with a sigh. "So this preliminary examination will of necessity be somewhat lacking." He rubbed his hair lightly with a hand before snapping on a pair of latex gloves. "It's been a while since I've done a routine physical," he said with a touch of humor. "Maybe we should have called Jasper, too."

"We may want to try later anyway," Edward said, "since she was so afraid of you. If we can't get her to calm down in your presence, maybe another doctor would help?"

Carlisle nodded, looking unperturbed with the fact that his patient did not trust him. "It's possible," he allowed. "Though, if it's really resemblance to James that's frightening her, Jasper looks more like him than I do."

That was undoubtedly true, and Edward had no response. He watched, instead, as Carlisle diligently began the examination. He clocked her pulse and listened to her heart, writing down figures on a yellow legal pad in lieu of a real patient chart. He carefully lifted her eyelids and checked her pupil response, to which she made an adorable grumpy sound and tried to curl on her side, hiding her head from the light.

"Shh, no, little wisp," Edward said softly, gently maneuvering her shoulders back down. "It's okay. Just rest. Everything's fine."

She stilled almost instantly, slipping back into deeper, medicated sleep.

"Wisp?" Emmett said, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" Edward asked defensively, stroking her messy hair gently. "She's just a little wisp of a girl. And it's better than calling her Jane Doe until we learn who she really is."

Emmett shrugged his broad shoulders. Luckily, he was an easygoing type, and this was not the sort of situation where it was kosher to give someone grief about something as petty as a nickname.

"Has she said anything about herself yet?"

Edward shook his head. "She's a mystery. Carlisle told you how we found her?"

Emmett nodded. "Unconscious in the back of the truck, moderately hypothermic. Looked like she'd been locked up in there for a while." He grimaced. "Smelled like it, too, poor thing."

"You saw it, then?"

"Yeah. Took pictures, video. I'll do another pass when the sun comes up proper. Right now it's too dark to really see much."

"Well," Edward said, still toying with the snarled strands of her hair, "she hasn't said a word. She's...an enigma. It's so strange. She's terrified—and rightly so. But there's something else there, too. I know I'm not a psychologist, but it's my professional opinion that she's been captive for a long time."

"Like how long are we talking?" Emmett asked. "Make sure you're loud enough that the recorder will pick up your voice. Months?"

"Years," Edward said, watching Carlisle check her ears and feel along her skull, testing for tender spots or any unusual bumps or protrusions. "She doesn't act like a normal human being—it's like everything she sees is new to her. She's like a cross between a toddler and an animal, and I _hate_ saying that, but it's true."

"How so?"

"Not only doesn't she speak," Edward said, "but she doesn't seem to understand most words. It's like talking to someone in a foreign language—not even, because she doesn't seem like she's even trying to follow what we say. She's highly aware of her surroundings—hyper aware, even, I'd say, though that's not surprising considering how afraid she is. But even so, only two or three words have elicited a reaction from her so far, and she doesn't acknowledge questions."

"What words?" Emmett asked, sitting on the arm of the couch as he watched Carlisle continue the exam.

"Bath. She recognized that word, and she seemed to like it. Especially when she realized the water was warm." He hid a small smile, remembering her visceral reaction to that revelation. The unfiltered pleasure on her face when she slipped into the tub had been exquisite. "She got so scared that she wet herself at the mention of James' name, so I'd definitely say she recognizes him. And when I was trying to coax her out from behind the couch, I accidentally said _good girl_, like you would to a toddler or a dog, and she seemed to understand that. Whether it was the words or the tone of praise, I couldn't tell you."

"Shit," Emmett said quietly. "What else?"

"I can't tell you if she _can't_ walk or _won't_ walk, at this point," Edward said. "But she doesn't, regardless. She's calmed down enough that she'll let me pick her up and carry her, but she hasn't even attempted to get to her feet." He took a breath and described more of her odd behavior—her confusion at his attempts to have her do things for herself like wash and eat, her refusal to sit in a chair. The panic attack at Carlisle's presence had already been explained to Emmett, who seemed to think that fear was a much more normal reaction from her than the kind of confused, innocent acceptance she had toward Edward.

"She ought to be terrified of you, man," Emmett said. "Why on earth isn't she?"

"I talk softly to her," Edward defended himself awkwardly. "I gave her food, and a hot bath, and warm clothes. Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Maybe she was too desperate for those immediate physical needs to be met, and she didn't have room to be afraid of me anymore."

"Whatever the reason," Carlisle cut in, "let's just be grateful. At least there's one person she doesn't seem too scared of." He had felt down her arms, pushing up the baggy sleeves of Edward's thermal shirt for a visual inspection, and now was working on her legs. "Emmett, I already told you this, but for the benefit of the camera, it's my professional opinion that we shouldn't expose her to a facility such as a hospital right now. She's too frightened, and unless there's a medically necessary procedure that Jasper and I can't handle here, I think it would be detrimental to her healing process to force her into an atmosphere like that. Even a mental facility meant to care for the emotionally disturbed would likely be incredibly stressful for her. She trusts Edward—enough, for now—and if he abandons her to a place like that, I'm afraid that trust might be lost for good."

Edward let out a small breath, relief easing some of the tight muscles in his back and shoulders. He didn't want this girl in a facility. He didn't want to scare her any more than absolutely necessary. If she trusted him even a little bit, he would do everything he could to help her. Right now, she was just too fragile to stand up well to an environment like that.

"I personally have no problem with that," Emmett said, watching as Carlisle pulled her loose pant legs up above her knees. "It's the Chief's call, of course. And the state's, if she's found to be a minor. Can you give me an age, Carlisle?"

The doctor shrugged. He seemed very interested in the girl's knees. They looked swollen, not just knobby as Edward had previously assumed without taking a close look at them. Had that happened when she fell to her knees from the chair, perhaps? "Late teens to early twenties, I'd say. You know people don't have age rings like trees, Emmett."

"So it's possible she _could_ be a minor," Emmett said. The thought seemed to trouble him, and Edward agreed. Not only did he feel extremely weird with the thought of having seen, and touched, a naked minor, getting the state involved meant a lot of red tape he didn't want her to have to deal with.

"We won't know anything for sure until we learn her identity," Carlisle said, a clear dismissal of all the what-ifs that were circling the room unsaid. "But here's something we _do _know."

"What?" Emmett asked eagerly.

"She has bursitis in both knees. Possibly ruptured ligaments as well. Have to get an image to know for sure."

"Bursitis?" Emmett wrinkled his nose. "Isn't that, like, an old people thing?"

"Usually," Carlisle agreed. "It's caused by repetitive high-stress motion to a joint—in this case, probably ridiculously extended periods of kneeling. The stress causes inflammation of the joint, which usually results in a great deal of pain."

"Her knees hurt her?"

"I can't see how they wouldn't," Carlisle said, glancing at the girl's sleeping face with a sympathetic expression. "Poor thing."

"Wait," Emmett said. "You said—kneeling?"

Carlisle rolled his eyes as he continued his examination. "That's not the only thing people do while kneeling," he said. "This is the sort of injury seen a lot in lifelong Catholics who can spend hours a day on their knees. Or prisoners of war who have been tortured by being forced to kneel, sometimes on objects like bamboo poles."

"Kneeling is a torture?"

"You try staying still on your knees for hours at a time and then tell me it's not." Carlisle glanced at the burly police officer. "It was a very common tactic used by the Viet Cong. Also the Japanese in World War II."

"Learn something new every day." Emmett shook his head. "So you're saying she could be...a religious nut? Or a torture victim?"

"I don't think there's any doubt that she's a torture victim," Edward growled.

"It depends on your definition," Carlisle said, "but I'd be inclined to agree." He inspected her torso, pressing on her concave belly before attaching a blood pressure cuff to her arm. "Her reading won't be normal," he warned, "because of her malnutrition, and also possibly the medication I just gave her. But we should get a reading anyway, just to see."

"Are you going to..." Edward paused, searching for the best words to use. "I mean, you said a rape kit was kind of pointless, but will you..."

"Do an internal exam?" Carlisle shook his head. "No. She needs one, but I just don't feel comfortable doing something like that while she's unconscious. Even though there's a police officer here and a camera rolling, so I _know_ there's no worry of a malpractice charge...I just can't do it. Not without her permission." He rubbed her swollen knee gently, tugging the legs of her pants back down. "Not to mention, if she's a minor the state will want a child advocate present for something like that."

"I wish we knew who she was," Edward murmured. "It would make everything so much easier." Maybe there were people looking for her—a family desperate to have their little girl back. It would be so gratifying to be able to give them back a lost child, to see her face light up at the sight of someone familiar and dear to her.

"I'll take fingerprints and a DNA swab," Emmett said, "and put a rush on the results. Hopefully we'll find a match soon."

"Do you want to hand me the swab before I take my gloves off?" Carlisle asked, holding out his hand. "I think we know all we can from a first examination. I wish she could tell us if something hurts, but unfortunately she can't. We'll have to go on instinct as we treat her."

Emmett handed over the swab kit and Carlisle gently opened her mouth, scraping the inside of her cheek carefully before sealing the swab up again. He handed it back to Emmett, then extracted a butterfly needle and several empty vials from his bag. "We'll just take a small blood sample, get some fluids in her, and then I'll take the sample down to the hospital. Unless you want to do the honors?" he asked, looking up at Emmett.

The big police officer shook his head. "Naw. I'll be at the station getting her file set up and assigning duties before I pass out. _Man_. These poker nights sure don't feel so good when I don't get to sleep it off the next day."

"Tell me about it." Carlisle tapped the inside of the girl's elbow, searching for a good vein. There was so little flesh that it hardly seemed to matter, but she was also dehydrated, which wouldn't help the process.

"Hold her arm, Edward," Carlisle requested as he swabbed the area with an alcohol pad and readied the needle. "I don't want her to jerk and foul the vein."

But she slept deeply, not even flinching as the needle pierced her pale skin, though her blood flowed very slowly as Carlisle filled two small vials.

"I'd like to take more," he said with a sigh before quickly attaching the saline solution to the needle and letting the bag rest on the back of the couch so gravity could work its magic. "She's just too dehydrated right now. Maybe in a few days we can try again."

Almost immediately as the clear fluid began to drip into her arm, the girl started to shiver. Emmett reached for the throw blanket draped across Edward's armchair, and Carlisle didn't stop him even as he said, "That won't really help. It's the temperature of the saline that's making her shiver. Edward, go fill a mixing bowl half full of hot tap water."

Edward was gone and back in a flash, holding the wide metal bowl. He watched as Carlisle put the bag of saline solution in the bowl of water and then balanced the bowl on the back of the couch.

"There," he said. "The water will warm the saline—not much, but hopefully enough that she's not so uncomfortable."

It did seem to help, as did the blanket Emmett had tossed over her prone form. Edward tucked it around her carefully, keeping the arm with the needle free, then went back to playing with the ends of her messy hair.

"Why didn't you comb her hair?" Emmett asked, watching Edward's nervous hands.

Edward grimaced. "I think it's a lost cause," he said. "We may have to just cut it all off."

"Oh, man, don't do that yet," Emmett said quickly. "Chicks _hate_ having decisions like that made for them. Rose would castrate me if I ever told her what to do with her hair."

"Emmett," Edward protested, "_look_ at it."

"I see it." Emmett looked considering. "I think you should call Alice. See if she can help."

"It's not a bad idea," Carlisle said, glancing at the level of saline in the bag. "She may feel more comfortable around another woman, anyway. Who knows? Alice might be able to get her to talk."

"If Alice shuts her own mouth for five seconds," Edward muttered. He didn't dislike Jasper's girlfriend, but she was a lot to take in even for a normal person. What this frightened girl would think of her was anyone's guess. He just hoped she didn't scare the poor thing to death.

Fifteen minutes later, the bag of saline was drained and Carlisle seemed to think that was sufficient for the time being. "She'll probably sleep for the better part of the day," he said, removing the butterfly needle and holding pressure on the wound before giving her a little circular Band-Aid. "Might be an idea for you to get some sleep as well," he said, looking at Edward. "I plan to drop these samples off at the hospital and head to bed myself."

Edward nodded, picking the girl's prone body up carefully in his arms, blanket and all. She shifted against him, one hand curling in his shirt to fist the material lightly. It was a sweet, sleepy gesture, and he couldn't help but smile.

"I'll keep you posted if we learn anything," Emmett promised. "And I'll be back for the truck—probably in the afternoon."

"Sleep, Edward," Carlisle reiterated. "When Esme wakes I'll advise her of the situation. She'll probably want to cook for our little vagabond, if nothing else."

"She'll want to wrap her up in her arms and never let go, you mean," Edward said with a small smile. Esme's mothering instinct was legendary. She and Carlisle could not have children of their own, but she had willingly taken in Edward when he needed a home, and she had extended that welcome to his friends through the years as well. She volunteered and was there for him through every milestone in his life, however small, despite working as an architect as well.

Carlisle chuckled. "No doubt. Are you prepared for a little sister, Edward?"

Edward shrugged off the light joke. He didn't care what they wanted to call the girl, as long as she got the help she so desperately needed. "I'm to bed, then," he said, shifting the girl's soft body in his arms. She did not stir, evidence of how deep her sleep really was.

Emmett and Carlisle took their leave and, when he was alone with the sleeping girl once again, Edward inhaled and exhaled deeply. On a normal after-poker morning, he would have gone out to breakfast with the guys, pigging out on eggs, potatoes, bacon, and other heavy morning foods, then falling into a blissful coma for the remainder of the day. This was not possible today, though, and he knew he wouldn't sleep well, waiting constantly to hear the girl stir.

"I think we'll both be tired for a while," he said ruefully, starting his trek up the stairs. There was no telling whether she would stay in a bed if he put her there, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let her sleep on the floor like some animal. He opened the door to the small guest bedroom, not bothering to flip on the light as he crossed to the little twin-sized daybed. Esme had wanted to put a regular queen bed in the room, but it was so small that Alice had volunteered her childhood bed instead. The daybed was an antique from the 1950's, white-painted metal with delicate scrollwork, and Edward lay the girl on the soft mattress, pulling the cool sheet and warm comforter snugly around her. Her head nuzzled sweetly into the pillow, and Edward couldn't help his smile as he brushed her hair out of her face and watched her for a long moment.

"You're safe now, little wisp," he said softly. "I won't let anything hurt you."

Edward left the door open so she wouldn't feel claustrophobic if she woke up before him, and slipped into his own room across the hall. There were many things he ought to be doing—washing out the bathtub, for one. But he was too tired from the long night out and the morning's discoveries, and he told himself there would be plenty of time later to tend to housecleaning. Emmett was beginning an investigation into the girl's identity, Carlisle was sending her bloodwork to be checked, and everything else could wait. They just had to be patient.

* * *

_A/N: I love hearing your guesses about what has happened to Bella and why she acts like she does, so keep 'em coming!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Aw, you guys are too sweet! And your theories on what's happened to Bella are quite intriguing! I'm in the process of replying to reviews, but I thought you'd rather have a new chapter first. ;-) _

_For those of you who were asking why they weren't jumping to arrest James right away, it was so I could do this:_

* * *

**Wisp**

A sudden pounding at the door roused Edward from his sleep. As he'd suspected, he slept lightly. Otherwise, no amount of pounding on the front door would have roused him.

Blearily, he stumbled down the stairs and opened the door, expecting to find Emmett, Carlisle, or perhaps Esme waiting for him.

No such luck.

The beginnings of a headache jolted him into full wakefulness as Edward encountered the nervous-looking weasel known as James.

"Hey," the blond-haired man said, shifting uneasily from foot to foot on the front step. "You have no idea how hard it was to find you."

Edward now wished he'd grabbed his cell phone on the way out of his room. Emmett hadn't said anything earlier about picking James up for questioning, but Edward assumed that went without saying. Now the guy was here, just a few feet away from the girl he'd abused and abandoned, and Edward sure as hell wasn't letting him get his hands on her ever again.

"So, the thing is..."

"You can't have the truck back," Edward said firmly, trying to cut James off at the pass. "You lost it fair and square."

"Shit, yeah, I know," James said. He rubbed the back of his neck and Edward glanced behind him, wondering just how the guy had managed to get to his house in the first place without his truck. A filthy white Corolla sat in the driveway. Someone had written "wash me" in several places on the car, and it was adorned with cartoon penises drawn in the dirt. It looked exactly like the sort of trashy vehicle James would drive.

"See, the thing is," James said, "there's something in the truck I need back. I'll just grab it and be on my way if you give me the key to the camper shell."

"You said Emmett could have everything in the truck," Edward countered. He wasn't sure whether James suspected that they'd found the girl. Probably not. He'd be out of state—maybe even in Canada—if he thought anyone suspected him. For that reason, Edward didn't want James to know the girl was in the house. Let him think she was still stuck in the truck, or had somehow run away. Edward didn't owe the bastard a goddamn thing.

"Sure, all the tools and shit," James said, and his awkward demeanor began to shift into something harder, more sinister, as he eyed Edward's bulk in the doorway. They were fairly evenly matched in height and weight, both sleekly muscular rather than big and bulky like Emmett. "But there's something personal in there. A...trinket, if you will. It's of no worth to anyone but me."

Edward could only assume that James meant the girl, and he felt his blood begin to boil at the words that fell so casually from the man's mouth. That girl was no _trinket—_no piece of property to be forgotten in the back of a truck until such time as her services were wanted. Hell, for all Edward knew, James hadn't even remembered he'd locked a poor girl up in the bed of his truck until he wanted a quick fuck or blow. The thought turned Edward's stomach for several reasons. No human being—hell, no _animal_—ought to be treated as that little girl had been. But there was also a little shudder he couldn't help at the thought of anyone wanting to have sex with someone as filthy as she had been, regardless. James was one sick fuck.

However, he was currently a sick fuck standing in Edward's doorway, not far from where the girl he'd kept captive was sleeping. If Edward didn't want the man to get suspicious, he needed to think of something fast.

"Look," he said, stretching, trying to counter James' tense posture and increasingly suspicious tone, "the truck isn't mine. You'll have to take it up with Emmett. You know his address?"

"He was unlisted," James admitted.

Of course he was. Even in a small town, it wasn't safe to just advertise a police officer's address for everyone to see.

"I'll give it to you," Edward said willingly. If James would go away, that was ideal. He'd go find the guy looking to put him in jail. And even if Emmett wasn't home, Edward had no fear for Rosalie. She carried a gun and knew how to use it.

"Lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place," she always said if anyone questioned her obsession with personal safety, "because I damn well make _sure_ it won't."

Edward hadn't known Rosalie when she was younger, right after the attack that had left her right arm scarred and her mind permanently wary. But after seeing the state of this new little wisp of a girl when he found her, he wasn't about to judge Rose for her caution.

"Look, man, you sure you can't just let me in the camper shell for, like, two minutes? I swear to god, Cullen, it's nothing valuable. Nothing McCarty would want."

While Edward knew James was trying to downplay the worth of the item he wanted, his dismissive tone when talking about a human being really made him see red. That girl had been brutalized, treated like an object to be kicked around and forgotten as James pleased. To him, she wasn't worth anything. He'd kept her locked in the back of a damn pickup truck, hurt, filthy, and unfed, for who knew how long. Only now, when he'd misplaced her and the threat of his actions being discovered hit him, did he attempt to retrieve her. Edward wanted to tear the man apart. He felt sick that he'd loaned him money—money he was sure he'd never get back—and had sat at a table playing poker with him for hours while that poor girl languished in the cold, dark truck outside. She'd been so close to a police officer and two doctors, and no one had known.

"I'm sorry, man," Edward forced himself to say. "I just can't do it. It's Emmett's truck now, after all."

"He wouldn't even know," James argued. "Don't be a pussy. Just let me in the damn truck—it will take all of sixty seconds, I swear to god, and your bro wouldn't know."

Edward bristled. He straightened his spine, standing firm in the doorway in case James tried anything. "I said no."

The argument had become a power struggle now, and Edward was well aware of that. It wasn't even really about the girl anymore at this point, but about the fact that James wanted something and Edward refused to give it to him.

"Don't fuck with me, man," James said, his eyes narrowing and his stance shifting.

"Don't fuck with _me_," Edward retorted. "You're on _my_ property, after all, asking for something you don't have a right to."

James' fist flew before Edward expected it, but he was lithe and quick from a childhood spent roughhousing with Jasper and the behemoth Emmett. He didn't have any real room to dodge, since he was standing in the doorway, so he reached forward with his hand and caught James' fist.

It was a hard blow, and Edward felt his muscles tense as he held against it. The bones in his hands ached; that maybe wasn't the smartest idea.

"I _will_ call the police," he warned. "If you want something out of the truck, you need to go find Emmett. That's all I can tell you."

"Pussy," James taunted. "Goddamn cocksucker! Got to get permission from your _boyfriend_ before you take a leak, too?"

The taunts at his manhood didn't faze Edward. He was aware of the reasons behind the jabs, and his education gave him the ability to brush them aside.

"I'll call him," James said, growling the words through his tobacco-stained teeth, "and when I do, and he tells me to get whatever I want, fuck. I'll be back, bitch."

Edward shut the door in his face.

After making sure through a crack in the curtain that James was actually getting in his car and leaving, Edward hurried back to his room and grabbed his phone. Hastily, he jabbed in Emmett's number from his address book.

Emmett picked up on the seventh ring, and it was obvious when Edward heard his bleary voice that he'd been sleeping.

"Sorry, man," he said quickly. "But James is on his way to your house. Are you there?"

"Shit—yeah," Emmett said, groaning loudly. Edward heard Rosalie sniping in the background that if he didn't spend all night drinking and playing poker, maybe he wouldn't have such trouble getting up the next day. "How do you know?"

"He showed up at the cabin," Edward said, hoping James hadn't bothered his parents in the main house. "Said he'd left something in the truck that he needed back. A trinket that wasn't worth anything except to him."

"Holy fuck," Emmett muttered. He could be slow at times, but not slow enough to fail to grasp that James had been talking about the girl they'd found.

"It took a while and he did throw a punch, but I told him to find you if he wanted to get into the truck," Edward said.

"Thanks for letting me know. I'll keep an eye out." Emmett groaned again, a little quieter, and Edward knew him so well that he could identify the noise as his friend lowering his bulk into a chair.

"So they let you go home and get some sleep?" Edward asked.

"Yeah," Emmett confirmed. "After I got the ball rolling the chief took over. It's my day off, after all. I'll still probably be lead on this case unless it gets shunted off to the state or the feds. Chief seems to think it might, especially if she's a minor."

"Have you found out anything?" Edward asked hopefully.

"Nah, not yet, and I told them to call me if anything happened while I was out." Emmett sighed. "Poor kid. How is she?"

"Haven't heard a peep out of her since James woke me up," Edward admitted. "I was going to check on her, but I thought it was important to call you first."

"Yeah, thanks," Emmett said. He paused. "I haven't told Rosie yet."

"Haven't told me what?" Rose's sharp voice floated across the connection.

"It's a long story, babe," Emmett said, "and you're not going to like it." He paused, then added petulantly, "Couldn't I please have some coffee first? You know, before you tear my head off?"

"Emmett McCarty, what the hell have you done now?" she demanded, and Edward was willing to bet that Emmett wasn't getting his coffee until he explained everything.

"I'll let you go," he said into the phone, smiling since Rosalie couldn't see him. She was a good person with a heart of gold, but you had to get through the hard exterior to find it. Emmett worshiped the ground she walked on, and she was good for him—kept him calm and level when he tended to go overboard.

"Let me know how she's doing," Emmett said. "You can call back and rescue me from what I feel is going to be a long conversation."

Edward had to agree. Rosalie would not take the news of Emmett's newest case well at all. She would demand to know why they couldn't immediately castrate and then disembowel James on the spot.

"Will do," Edward promised. "Later."

After Emmett hung up, Edward headed across the hall to check on the mystery girl he'd left sleeping in the little daybed. His heartbeat had somewhat calmed during his phone call with Emmett, but he felt it begin to pick up again as he approached the spare bedroom. What would he find? Would she be asleep in bed, just as he'd left her? That was the result Edward hoped for—that she'd never even know James had been here, and she was resting comfortably.

But when he peered through the open door to the bedroom, the bed was empty.

Edward had to admit that he'd more or less expected as much, assuming she'd woken up on the piece of furniture. Her strange insistence on being on the floor would have to be addressed...once they figured out how to communicate with her.

He looked around the tiny room for any sign of her, checking under the bed and in the little window seat. The bed was somewhat rumpled, but it looked as if she'd made at least some attempt to fix it. Did she do it because she was used to doing chores? Or to make it look as if she had never been in the bed to begin with? Edward didn't know, and his frustration at the situation and his own inability to help the girl rose every time they discovered something new about her.

She was in the closet. The space was more or less bare—a few boxes on the upper shelf, but nothing else, since this was a guest room. There was plenty of room for her to curl up on the carpeted floor, but Edward hated to see it. She was asleep, still wearing his too-big clothes, her torso rising and falling softly with her sleeping breaths. She looked peaceful, which conflicted Edward. He wanted to move her back to the bed where she could be warm and comfortable, but disturbing her might be worse than leaving her where she was and letting her rest.

"You're such a conundrum, little wisp," he murmured, his words little more than a breath. She shifted, her face nestling further into the scratchy carpet pile, but did not wake.

Edward couldn't stand watching her sleep on the uncomfortable carpet, so he finally decided on a middle ground they could hopefully both appreciate. He pulled the comforter off the bed and tucked it around her, then slipped a pillow under her head. She shifted again, curling up into a tighter ball, but did not open her eyes.

"Rest, honey," Edward said, touching her cheek lightly with his fingertips before standing and backing slowly out of the room. "You deserve it."

Wandering back downstairs, Edward glanced at the clock on the stove and grimaced. It was well after noon, which meant he really shouldn't go back to sleep. He needed to prepare for when his guest awoke, and get in touch with several people.

Resolute, he popped some bread into the toaster for his breakfast and while it cooked he dialed Jasper and Alice's house.

"Edward!" Alice answered, bright and loud as always. "Did you take all of Jazzy's money last night? Did I leave enough snacks? I thought I did, but you never know."

"It was fine, Alice," Edward said, tucking his phone into the crook of his shoulder as he pulled butter and jam out of the refrigerator. He was seriously unsure about introducing Alice to their little wisp, though Carlisle and Emmett had both seemed to like the idea. Alice was a very sweet girl, but she was also a lot to handle, even for a regular person. Edward desperately did not want to frighten his guest. "Is Jasper awake?"

"Barely," she giggled. "He's already downed half a pot of coffee, so he should be good to go. Should I get him for you?"

"Actually," Edward said, "put me on speaker. This is something both of you need to hear."

Alice squealed. "You found a girl!" she said. "What's her name? Anything's got to be better than the last one."

Edward rolled his eyes inwardly. In fact, he had "found a girl," though not at all the way Alice meant. And really, there hadn't been anything wrong with Tanya, though Alice and Rosalie had not liked her at all. "Just put me on speaker, please," he repeated. "I'll explain it all then."

She did, and after hearing Jasper's sleepy, croaked greeting, Edward began his tale. He had a sinking feeling he'd be telling it an awful lot in the foreseeable future. He explained how he'd opened the camper shell of the truck out of curiosity, and how he'd found the girl and assumed she was dead. Alice tried to break in several times, only to be hushed by Jasper. Finally, Edward finished telling about James' abrupt appearance at the cabin and where he found the girl sleeping.

"So there you have it," he said, noticing that his toast had gone cold as he talked. He honestly wasn't terribly hungry anyway, but the routine of breakfast was something nice and normal on a day that promised to be anything but. "Alice, Carlisle thought you might be able to do something with her hair so we don't have to cut it all off. Jasper, I guess it's worth a shot to see if she's less afraid of you than of Carlisle."

"We'll be over as soon as you want us," Jasper promised, just before Alice's excited voice broke in.

"Ohmigosh," she squealed, "you can _not_ cut off a girl's hair like that, Edward Anthony Cullen! Do you hear me? I'll fix it, just don't _cut it_."

Edward had no clue why Alice was so adamant—she herself had short hair, after all. She was an inscrutable creature, but unfailingly kind.

"So she's still asleep?" Jasper asked above Alice's background mumbling about hair products.

"Was a few minutes ago," Edward confirmed. "You can come over whenever you want—now that Alice knows, she'll want to be kept in the loop and we might as well be together to hear whatever Carlisle and Emmett find."

"I can't believe you sent James straight to the cops," Jasper said with a snort. "I'll be glad to hear that the bastard's behind bars."

"Me, too," Edward agreed. But if the mysterious girl couldn't testify, did they have enough evidence to keep James locked up for good? It was a sobering question.

"I'll try to keep Alice contained," Jasper added, lowering his voice slightly. "If she's that scared, she doesn't need to be frightened any further."

"Thanks." The gratitude was extremely heartfelt. Alice was very sweet and almost never in a bad mood, but she was definitely a lot to handle and Edward desperately did not want to frighten the girl.

"Edward," Alice called, sounding as if she was re-entering the room, "I want to drop by the store and pick up some things for her. We'll be by after that. Okay?"

"What sort of things?" Edward asked suspiciously. Alice had been known on many occasions to overdo shopping.

"Just things she needs, you oaf," Alice teased. "Does she have any clothes?"

No, actually, now that Alice mentioned it. But Edward wasn't at all sure that Alice's idea of an appropriate wardrobe would suit the girl currently sleeping upstairs.

"Wait until you've met her," Jasper suggested, saving Edward from having to argue. "Then you can go with Rosalie or Esme."

Alice heaved a sigh, but it was really the best suggestion in Edward's mind. Rosalie and Esme would be able to keep Alice's generosity in check, selecting things that were necessary and comfortable, not fashionable. "Great," he said. "I'll make coffee and see you soon?"

Alice confirmed for Jasper, and Edward hung up the phone just in time to hear the creaking sound of shifting floorboards upstairs. The girl must be awake.

Determined to move slowly and not startle her, Edward resisted the urge to lunge for the stairs. He walked firmly in his socked feet, deliberately making noise so she would hear him coming. Peering through the open doorway of the room, he saw her sitting up in the little cavern of the closet, bleary-eyed and confused, staring in consternation at the comforter draped over her legs.

"I didn't want you to get cold," Edward said softly.

She looked at him, her hair not much more rumpled after her morning sleep—not that Edward thought it could get much worse—but did not attempt to move from the closet.

"I wish you had stayed in the bed," he continued, stepping slowly into the room, "but I imagine that's going to be a bigger battle, huh?"

She watched him, her eyes wary as he approached the closet where she sat.

"I hope you liked dinner last night," Edward said, kneeling down next to her. "Or breakfast this morning—whatever." He tried smiling at her, but she did not smile back. She cocked her head to the side, watching him with those big brown eyes, studying his face. "You do remember me, right?" he said, attempting to tease, but the joke was lost when it got absolutely no reaction from her. "Well," he said with a mental shrug, "I guess it's too soon to expect much, huh? Do you want to use the bathroom? I can carry you down the stairs if you like."

At the word _bath_ her eyes lit up, just as they had before. She pushed the comforter off her legs and knelt, crawling on all fours out of the closet.

"I really wish you wouldn't crawl," Edward said, feeling a little uncomfortable as he watched her shuffle along the carpet. "I'll carry you if you can't walk, but the crawling makes me nervous."

She did not respond, simply watching him with her big eyes as Edward stood and offered her his arms. For a moment it looked as if she would shy away, her body tensing slightly, leaning back toward the relative safety of the dark little closet. Edward stood his ground, not moving a muscle as she knelt there, torn between fear and trust, until she slowly shifted on her knees and raised her arms to his.

"Good girl," he said, smiling widely as she allowed herself to be picked up. "We'll see about walking soon enough. I'd rather not make you try until Carlisle or Jasper confirms that it won't hurt you."

Her warm little hands rested on his shoulders as he carried her carefully down the stairs and into the bathroom. Edward lowered her to the floor, allowing her to sink to her knees on the clean tile, and gestured toward the toilet. "I'll leave you alone for a while and you can use the bathroom," he said. "If you can't do _that_ on your own, little wisp, you and I are in for quite the ordeal."

She did not acknowledge his words, but she watched him back out of the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Edward hoped she was able to do at least that much on her own. If not, he might well give up and call Esme. He'd been toilet-trained already when he came to her, but this was something he definitely felt uncomfortable doing.

Edward settled back on the couch, staring blankly at the plate of cold toast on the coffee table. Alice and Jasper should be here soon. He wondered if he should call Esme anyway. She was a calming influence, and one of the only people Edward knew who could keep Alice in line with just a gentle word.

A sudden stirring in his peripheral vision made Edward start from his musing, and he blinked in surprise to see the mystery girl halted on her knees near the coffee table, chewing delicately on her plump lower lip and watching him worriedly.

"Oh," Edward said, forcing his thoughts back to the present. "Hello. Did you manage all right on your own?"

Now that he was thinking about it, Edward could hear the residual gurgle of the flushed toilet. He smiled broadly at her, relief sweeping through his chest. "You have no idea how happy I am about this," he told her. "I'll do everything I can to help you, but I have to admit that particular act would have been difficult for both of us."

Or maybe it wouldn't? She had seemed remarkably unaffected when Edward bathed her the night before, and she did not seem particularly upset to be naked around him. Who knew what this girl was used to?

She was looking around the interior of the room bathed in misty Forks light, casting her gaze back toward Edward every few seconds as if to make sure he had not moved. She did not seem at all uncomfortable kneeling on the floor, though Edward wished he could coax her up onto the couch with him. Short of pulling her onto his lap again, he doubted he'd get very far with that. Maybe it would be better to wait until Alice got here and let _her_ try?

The girl's eyes alighted on the plate of cold toast on the coffee table, and immediately a bright, interested gleam lit in their sweet brown depths. It was obvious from every line of her face that she wanted that food.

"You don't want that," Edward tried to tell her. "It's gone cold. I'll make you something hot—wouldn't that be better?"

But she didn't acknowledge his words with even a glance in his direction, her entire being focused on the plate of toast before her. Edward sighed. "Okay," he said. "I probably shouldn't do it—we should wait for Carlisle's recommendation and all that.." But he could not resist the look of absolute hunger and yearning on her face. The need to appease that look grew too strong, pressing against his ribs from the inside as if his entire torso might stretch with the feeling. He'd _never_ felt anything like this before. When girlfriends begged and wheedled for gifts—or worse, hinted badly—he was absolutely turned off. But the honest desperation on this girl's face undid him. Against his better judgment, he pushed the plate toward her.

"Okay," he said softly. "Okay, little wisp. But I'd really love it if you could eat off the table without my help."

Without the hesitation she'd shown the night before, the girl snatched at the nearest piece of toast the minute Edward's hand left the plate She bit deeply into the cold toast, strawberry jam leaving a smear of red across her lip as she chewed, a look of ecstasy crossing her lovely, delicate features.

"Maybe napkin skills should be next on our agenda," Edward said mildly, watching her cram another huge bite into her mouth. When Emmett ate like that it was absolutely disgusting—even as another guy, Edward couldn't watch that shit. But this girl was oddly cute with her cheeks rounded like a chipmunk's, her lips sticky with jam.

"I am going to buy you a slice of the most decadent chocolate cake I can find," Edward vowed, not bothering to hide his smile. "Just so I can watch your expression as you eat it."

She inhaled both pieces of toast quickly, licking her lips to catch the lingering sticky sweetness of the jam. Edward watched her, an odd feeling of affection welling in his stomach, then took the empty plate to the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee while he was there. God knew they'd need it today. Emmett could drink an entire pot on his own, and Rose wasn't much better. Probably they'd have the coffeemaker going all the rest of the day, though Edward definitely didn't mind. The warm drink and bitter fragrance were incredibly soothing when he needed it.

But all thoughts of soothing went out the door when he walked back into the living room, only to find his mystery girl looking decidedly green, her hand clamped tight over her mouth and her entire body shaking.

"Shit," he said, immediately feeling guilty for letting her have that toast as he grabbed her under the arms and hauled her quickly into the bathroom.

They made it to the toilet just in time, as she vomited up a brown and red mess that was definitely still toast. Edward let her kneel next to the toilet bowl, holding her hair back as she retched. A miserable whimper escaped her throat, and he saw the gleam of tears streaming from her eyes again.

"Oh, little wisp," Edward crooned as she dry-heaved, "I'm so, so sorry. I knew it was a bad idea, but I just couldn't say no to your eyes. Honey, I'm so sorry."

The girl cried softly and Edward knelt behind her, letting her shaking body lean against him. "I know," he said, though he really didn't. "I know. It's okay. It's my fault. You'll be fine, and we'll let Carlisle oversee your diet from now on." He buried his lips in her soft, matted hair, breathing in the smell of his shampoo. "I might have a doctorate, but I'm no doctor. I'm so sorry, little wisp. So sorry."

She nestled against his chest, letting him hold her and stroke her sweaty forehead. Edward hoped she drew some comfort from the contact—he knew he did.

"Come on," he said finally, when his knees started to ache and he thought she must be chilly kneeling on the tile floor. "Let's see about brushing your teeth. Your mouth must feel awful."

She did not resist as Edward lifted her again, this time considerably more gently, and set her on the tile countertop next to the sink. He dug in the cabinet for a new toothbrush, glad that he always kept several spares. She watched him, her eyes half-lidded, warring between tired and curious as he spread a healthy glob of Aquafresh on the brush and wet it under the tap.

"Now," he said, "this could get interesting."

She accepted the brush into her mouth willingly enough, but she immediately licked away the toothpaste and swallowed it with a grimace, just as she had learned to do with a spoon.

"That's not exactly what I had in mind," Edward said with a sigh, debating his next move. "Just...just keep your mouth open. Can you do that?" He applied more toothpaste to the brush, then opened his own mouth comically wide. "See? Like that."

She looked at him for a moment before scooting to the edge of the countertop and trying to slide to her knees.

"No," Edward corrected her, holding her shoulders gently to keep her from falling. "Why do you want to be on the floor?"

As if in answer, the girl reached for the clasp of his jeans with both hands, managing to undo the button before he stopped her.

"Whoa, whoa," he said, backing away. "We're brushing teeth here, little wisp. Just brushing teeth."

She frowned in confusion as he pulled her hands firmly away from his jeans, resting them back in her lap.

"Why on earth would you think-"

Edward stopped short as it became clear to him. "Oh," he said. "Oh, little one, no. Not here. That's not what an open mouth means here."

She did not respond, but she stopped trying to touch him as Edward patted her hands and tried to reassess the situation. This was ridiculously difficult. Things that he did every day without even thinking were extremely hard to explain to someone with absolutely no grasp of their purpose.

"Okay," he said again. "Let's try a different tactic." He pulled out his own toothbrush, added toothpaste, and opened his mouth wide, making exaggerated motions as he began to brush his teeth. The girl watched in fascination, as if she found it difficult to comprehend anyone attempting to do such a thing. Edward paused and set his toothbrush down after a few swipes, picking up hers and holding it near her mouth.

She opened obediently, and this time she held her mouth open and did not attempt to eat the toothpaste as Edward brushed her teeth. He tried to be as gentle as possible. They were remarkably pristine for someone who obviously hadn't had much in the way of oral hygiene in her life. He took care brushing her gums and tongue, looking for anything that looked obviously like rot but not finding anything conclusive.

But then she swallowed again, the toothpaste foam disappearing down her throat before he could tell her to spit.

"No," he sad, and she flinched hugely at the word, cowering away from him. Yes, she obviously knew what that meant.

His efforts to reassure her were cut short a moment later as he saw her turn pale again, her stomach giving a visible heave. He didn't have time to carry her to the toilet, and she regurgitated the swallowed toothpaste into the sink with an unhappy little cry.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, stroking her hair as she grimaced. "I wish you could understand my words. It would make everything so much easier."

Picking up his own toothbrush again, Edward brushed a little more and then spat very deliberately into the sink.

This time when he brushed over her teeth again, she mimicked his actions and spat the mouthful of foam into the sink. Hers was bloody, which Edward more or less expected. The mouth was a very tender place, and bleeding was a sure sign of neglect. It would fade with regular care. Edward wished he could give her some mouthwash to gargle with, but the odds of her swallowing the noxious liquid were too great and he didn't want to risk it. Not with her upset stomach and obvious dehydration.

"Okay," he said, giving her a sip of water from his bathroom cup instead. He showed her how to swish it around in her mouth and then spit, and then gave her a mouthful she could swallow. She did eagerly, exhaling a sweet, mint-scented breath against his cheek.

"There," he said. "I know it might seem strange, but I'll assure you that you'll grow to like the feeling if you don't right now."

She did not respond in any way, simply watching him with curious eyes as if to ask him what other odd things he would expect of her next. Edward offered her soap and pantomimed washing his face, which made her eyes light up with pleasure. She spent a good few minutes scrubbing her face, plunging her hands under the warm running water with obvious delight. The counter was a dripping, soapy mess once she was through, but Edward didn't care as he patted her cheeks dry with a towel. She was too sweet to scold for something so trivial.

"You're beautiful," he told her honestly, stroking her jaw lightly with his fingertips. "I don't know exactly what's happened to you, but I hope you're learning that things will be different here."

She nestled against his chest as he picked her up, her body too light, and Edward made a mental note to call Carlisle as soon as he got her settled. They needed to get some food into her, and obviously bolting two pieces of toast with butter and jam had been a bad idea.

"Let's see if we can't do something about your fear of furniture, huh?" Edward suggested. "I _hate_ leaving you on the floor."

She seemed calm enough as Edward settled himself on the couch, her little form curling perfectly to rest in his lap. He watched her expression, paying attention to her breaths and the tension in her body, but she did not seem panicked.

Slowly, hoping she would allow it, Edward eased her carefully off his lap, sitting her beside him on the brown couch.

Instantly, her brow furrowed. She stiffened, dropping to the floor just as she had from the kitchen chair earlier despite his arm around her shoulders. Edward watched, a sharp wedge of sorrow in his chest as he saw her huge brown eyes squint in confusion, her teeth gnawing incessantly at the swollen pout of her lower lip.

"You can't stay there," Edward said, begging her with his eyes to let him help her. "You can stay on my lap if you want, but I can't stand to see you kneeling on the floor like that. Carlisle said your knees hurt. Doesn't it make it worse to kneel all the time?"

But, of course, there was no answer to his question. Edward bent toward her, about to gather her back to his lap, when the doorbell rang.

The girl tensed, her eyes immediately flying toward the source of the sound, and Edward mimicked the gesture. It was probably either Carlisle or Jasper and Alice, but he couldn't be sure. And if James tried to come back while the girl was in the living room, he'd see her. He'd see her, he'd know she'd been found, and there was no telling what he would do then.

Slowly, Edward rose. The doorbell rang again, the person on the other side obviously impatient. He frowned, striding to the wooden door and peering out the peephole.

A mop of blond curls attached to a lanky body wearing a familiar jean jacket came into view, and Edward breathed a sigh of relief, opening the door to Jasper.

"Hey, man," he said, welcoming him into the living room. Alice was right behind, a giant bag in her hand, and Edward despaired when he caught sight of it.

"How is she?" Jasper asked, turning his head and catching sight of the girl kneeling next to the couch.

She was pale as a ghost, trembling slightly, her gorgeous eyes huge as she stared at the blond man in front of her. Jasper stood still, letting her stare all she liked. "Hello," he said softly, his question to Edward abandoned without an answer. "You don't have to be afraid. I'm Jasper. Jasper—not James."

The name was out of his mouth before Edward could warn him not to say it, and the girl whimpered softly, shuffling backward until her back hit the edge of the coffee table. The sharp impact against her protruding vertebrae must have hurt, but she gave absolutely no indication.

"Little wisp," Edward said, starting forward, "it's okay. Honey, you're fine. Jasper won't hurt you. No one will."

His intention was to touch her, to pull her into his arms so she hopefully felt grounded and secure, but before he reached her, Alice stepped out from behind Jasper's lithe frame.

"Hi, wisp," she said, mimicking Edward's words. "I'm Alice."

The girl's eyes did not grow bigger. Instead, they narrowed. She cocked her head to the side slowly, staring at Alice, Jasper now forgotten. Edward couldn't tell if she was afraid or not. He honestly had no idea what the look plastered across her face meant.

"Gently, Alice," he warned, praying to any deity who would listen, hoping that Alice would rein in her usual manic personality for once.

"I won't hurt her," Alice said, never once removing her eyes from the girl kneeling next to the coffee table. "She knows that. Don't you, wisp? You know I mean no harm." She approached slowly, setting down the bag near Jasper's feet before taking two cautious steps forward. "You know I want to be your friend."

Edward doubted she knew anything of the sort, but he kept his mouth shut and watched Alice slowly approach his charge. His chest was tight; his lungs felt squeezed with anxiety as he waited to see what the eventual reaction to Alice would be.

Out of the corner of his eye, Edward saw a flash of motion as the front door opened again, admitting Carlisle, Emmett, Rosalie, and Esme. Jasper motioned them to silence, and suddenly all six pairs of eyes were pinned to the two young women in the middle of the living room.

"She looks like she's seen a ghost," Carlisle whispered, the words barely reaching Edward across the small room.

"Which one?" Rose breathed back.

No one had an answer for her.

As if in a trance, Emmett slowly fumbled his palm-sized video camera open and trained it on the encounter in question. Edward wasn't at all sure a meeting between his mystery guest and Alice was much use as evidence, but he couldn't bring himself to say so.

Alice inched closer, getting slowly to her knees, edging toward the girl. "Hiya," she said. "Oh, I _wish_ I knew your name. It might make you feel better."

The girl did not respond, her face a mask of concentration. When she edged in Alice's direction, Edward's eyes almost bugged out of his head.

"We'll be friends," Alice repeated. "Good friends, once we get you sorted out. And we can call you Wisp until we learn your real name. It's nice—short and sweet, like you." She smiled. "Like _both_ of us."

When Alice reached her, Edward thought his heart would stop beating. He held his breath, waiting.

Slowly, inch by inch, the girl raised her right hand hesitantly. Her eyes were locked on Alice's, staring hard, brown to blue. Alice did not flinch back, seeming unperturbed by the intense scrutiny. She held her ground as the girl's fingers reached her face. Light as a feather, the girl touched her fingertips to Alice's lips, then brought her hand back and brushed her hand against her own. When Alice did not shy away, she touched her cheeks, tracing the contours of Alice's delicate bone structure, then finding the same sections on her own face. She stared intently at Alice, cocking her head first one way, then another, as if trying to solve an impenetrable puzzle laid before her.

"Oh, god," Rosalie breathed. She leaned her head against Emmett's shoulder, her gaze trained on the girls, unable to look away.

"What the hell is going on?" Emmett muttered. No one answered him, but Carlisle made a shushing motion with his hand. Poor Esme was white as a sheet.

The girl's fingertips drifted along the definition of Alice's collarbone, exposed by a boatneck shirt, then touched the hidden protrusion of her own matching bones under the masking drape of Edward's too-big thermal. Her hand ghosted across Alice's sternum, found a small breast, and jerked back. She swallowed hard as she fingered the swell of her own breast, her eyes wide as she stared.

"Yes," Alice said, nodding slowly. "Yes, Wisp. I'm just like you."

* * *

_A/N: And you were all afraid that Alice would scare her! ;-) (No, actually, I understand the concern!)_

_I didn't mention any fics last chapter. This time I thought I'd change it up a little bit. Broken!Edward fics instead of broken!Bella._

The Vampire in the Basement by michellephants. Not like anyone doesn't know this one already. ;-) Complete!

Feral by opal aline. Not complete, but updated regularly.

Losing Hope by rscianatico. Promising start, might be abandoned.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: For what it's worth, Edward and Jasper's technical discussion about learning language is more or less true. New research is coming out all the time, but this is the overall gist of the debate. :-)_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

"What the hell is going on?" Emmett demanded—thankfully in a subdued voice—as Esme grasped Rosalie's hand and led the blond woman closer to the two girls kneeling on the floor. "Does Alice know her or something?"

"No," Jasper replied, sharing a solemn glance with Carlisle.

"How do you know?" Emmett hissed, but he was shushed by a motion from Carlisle once again.

"Watch," the older doctor instructed. "And keep your camera up—I have a feeling we're not done with the theatrics yet."

Emmett hushed, and Edward could only watch helplessly as Esme and Rosalie joined Alice and his mystery girl on the floor. Her soft brown eyes almost bugged out of her head as she stared from one feminine face to another, her chest heaving with quick, unsure breaths. He ached to take her in his arms, to let her bury her head against his shoulder and shut out all the questions, the fear—everything that caused her any kind of unhappiness at all. But he was more afraid of shattering this moment, of moving too swiftly and panicking her. She was such a scared, jumpy little thing—not afraid of her own shadow, but of practically everything else, it sometimes seemed. The wrong move could make her spiral out of control, and since Edward did not quite know what that wrong move might be, he remained motionless.

"Hello, little Wisp," Esme said softly. "I'm Esme, and this is Rosalie. We won't hurt you, baby. I'd love it if you could tell us your name, though. Couldn't you do that for me? Just one word, that's all we want."

But the girl stayed silent, staring at Esme with those huge dark eyes that seemed to leak emotion just as they leaked tears, drops slowly sliding down her pale cheeks as she stared.

Rosalie said nothing, which was not terribly normal for Rose, but Edward had no idea how she would react to seeing an obvious victim of trauma. Her blue eyes were sharp as she eyed the girl, though she did not look angry. It was often impossible to tell with Rose, however. She wore irritation like armor, shielding her from the harms of the world. It wasn't perhaps the healthiest way to deal with past abuse, but Edward wasn't about to discuss it with her. He was a sociologist, not a psychologist. Rose's wounds were her own to bear, not his to probe at will.

"Carlisle," Esme said, her own eyes wet as she turned her head slowly to look at her husband, "is she well? Physically?"

"As far as we can confirm," he said. "I told you I looked her over last night, but there are plenty of things I could have missed and I'll be the first to admit it."

"Has she said _anything_? Anything at all?"

"No," Edward said regretfully. "She's made some noises, but no words."

"A foreign language, perhaps?"

Edward shook his head. The noises the girl had made thus far were clearly not language—little whimpers of protest or pain, a squeal of fright when he first touched her. It was impossible to know just how much she understood of their speech, and nearly as impossible to guess what language, if any, she might have learned to speak at some point.

"It's just as I said about walking last night," he said quietly, unsure whether the camera would be able to pick up his words from across the room. "Whether she _can't_ or _won't_ really doesn't matter at this point. The salient fact is that she _doesn't_. Short of bringing in a linguist to try talking to her in twenty different languages, I'm not sure there's much we can do until she calms down and trusts us more."

"You don't think she even understands?" Rosalie's eyes were narrowed as she jerked them to him. "Just because she doesn't choose to talk doesn't mean she's stupid."

"I didn't say she was stupid," Edward said slowly, trying not to give in to his irritation with Rosalie's sometimes-difficult attitude. "Consider this—last night, Carlisle and I were talking right in front of her about how he had put Ativan in some food for her, so she would fall asleep and he could examine her. She ate with no qualms. Doesn't seem like something she'd do if she understood us."

Rose's sharp eyes softened somewhat, and she turned back to the girl in question. "Sorry, Edward," she said—one of the only times he'd ever heard those words from her. "I just...don't discount her just because she's scared. Please."

Before Edward could insist that he'd never do such a thing—that he did not, in fact, think she was stupid or incapable—Rosalie had already moved on. He held in an annoyed roll of his eyes. She and Alice were both good people, but he knew for a fact that he couldn't handle either of them as more than a friend. Their temperaments meshed well with those of their boyfriends, but not with Edward's. He hoped Esme, at least, understood that he by no means questioned the girl's intelligence. If she couldn't understand them—which, to Edward's mind, she clearly did not—the impetus was not on his little wisp to somehow magically comprehend, but on them to find an alternate means of communication.

"Do you suppose she maybe wasn't exposed to language when she was little?" Esme asked, her voice halting. She reached out a trembling hand, easing toward the girl's face. Big brown eyes watched her movement, but the girl—apparently officially dubbed Wisp for the time being—did not scoot away. She flinched slightly as Esme's hand came to rest on her pale cheek, her chest heaving with scared, panting breaths. "Oh, honey. Baby, it's okay. We won't hurt you. How could anyone possibly?"

But someone had—and badly. That much was obvious. Edward clenched a tense fist and remained silent. He was surprised at his own wish to touch the girl—to pick her up again and hold her close to his chest. When it was just the two of them, she didn't seem so frightened. She even appeared to relax at least a little bit—had given him a smile when he pulled thick socks over her cold feet. She definitely wasn't smiling at Esme, though she didn't seem to be panicking, either.

"If so," Jasper said solemnly, "it doesn't bode well for her future."

"Hey," Alice said, glaring at her boyfriend reproachfully. "Rose just told you not to call her stupid."

"He didn't call her stupid," Edward said, speaking up for his friend. "If you ask someone on the street what differentiates humans from animals, assuming the person's not religious, you'll get one of two answers."

"Walking or talking," Jasper said with a nod.

"I swear to god, if you compare her to an animal again—" Rose growled.

Immediately, the girl shied back from the angry voice. She scooted away abruptly, eyes wide, tearing her cheek from Esme's gentle touch. Rosalie's mouth thinned into an unhappy line when she saw what she'd done, and she stopped talking.

But the damage had been done. The girl looked around the room, her attention taken from the women before her, and she saw Carlisle, Emmett, and Jasper standing near the door. She whimpered unhappily, the sound low and broken in her throat, and jerked her head wildly around as if searching for something.

Apparently, she was. Her eyes lit upon Edward's form and the moment she saw him, she stumbled toward him on her knees. Her little body almost toppled into his legs before Edward could reach out and steady her, and with a deep breath he pulled her gently back into his arms. He stood, crossed to the couch, and sat in the corner of it with the little ball of her body curled on his lap. Her arms hugged him, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly as she buried her head against him, hiding in the only place of safety she knew.

Edward ached for her—her fear sent ribbons of pain through his body. And yet, at the same time, there was a strange kind of pride, too—pride that she'd chosen him as her safety, that she trusted him enough to seek him out when she was afraid and needed comfort. Tears wet his shirt, but he didn't care. He rubbed his hand up and down her bony back, breathing in the smell of her as she huddled miserably in his arms.

"It's okay, little wisp," he said, stroking the matted tangle of her hair, tickling his fingers against her ear. "No one here will hurt you. Rosalie didn't mean to frighten you. It's okay. You're fine."

She was not fine, and Edward knew that. But he had nothing else to say—nothing that could take away her fear. She continued to push her small body against him, almost as if willing herself to disappear within the circle of his arms. Edward just held her, unable to do anything else.

"Oh, dear," Esme murmured, moving smoothly from the floor to a chair. Carlisle settled on the arm next to her and squeezed her shoulder.

"That little girl," Rosalie said, her skin almost as pale as Wisp's, "has been through some _shit_." She looked at Emmett, her police officer. "We have to find out how to help her."

"We will." Carlisle spoke for Emmett, sounding firm. "I don't think anyone here wants this girl hurting any longer than she absolutely needs to. We'll do all we can."

"Did J—" Edward forced himself to stop, refraining from saying that name around the girl. "Did _he_ show up at your house, Em?"

"Yup," Emmett said, sounding immensely pleased with himself. "Had the gall to knock on the door and, when Rosie answered, demanded to speak to _the man of the house_." He snorted. "Arrested him on the spot."

Rosalie looked torn between smug and irritated. "It wasn't exactly the most professional arrest."

"I'm wounded, baby! Accusing me of not being professional?"

"You can't _literally_ arrest someone for being a douchebag!"

Edward snorted. "Is that really what you charged him with?"

"Among other things," Emmett said with a shrug. "Anyway, he's cooling his heels in the hoosegow for now. Won't talk, but hasn't lawyered up either. The Chief was wondering if maybe he was expecting us to play ball—offer him a deal or something. Me, I just think he's throwing a tantrum because he knows he got caught."

Edward tried to feel relieved that James was at least behind bars, but he had really been hoping the man would give them some information about his mystery girl. James was the obvious first step in learning her identity. Without him, what would be the next step?

"What were you saying earlier, Edward?" Alice asked, her voice more subdued than he'd ever heard it before. "About walking and talking."

"Oh." Edward took a moment to gather his thoughts. The interconnection between biology and the social sciences wasn't really his area of expertise, but he'd try. "A lot of people assume that walking is a skill we teach our young, but it isn't so. In fact, a child raised in isolation will begin to walk at about the same time as a child raised in a normal family environment. But language—language is far more complex. No one really knows how children learn it. Many studies have been done, with results that don't add up to a clear picture." He rubbed the girl's back slowly, wincing as he felt each individual knob of her spine. They needed to get more food into her—something she wouldn't vomit up again. "For instance, all babies in all cultures begin to babble at the same age and, regardless of the language they hear being spoken around them, they all babble exactly the same. Eventually, sounds that don't exist in their mother tongue drop from their babble-vocabulary. So, clearly, at least some of it is learned. And yet, other studies have shown that part of language is innate, too. We seem to have a built-in grammar, as it were. The majority of sentences spoken to infants are interrogative—questions—or imperative—orders. _Are you hungry? Don't do that_. Things like that. But when toddlers start talking, they do so largely in declaratives. Obviously, they're not just mimicking what they hear."

"Language is complex; we get it," Rosalie said impatiently. "What's this got to do with her? She's not a baby."

"It's unethical to experiment on children," Edward said, holding Wisp carefully against him and trying not to feel irritation at Rosalie for being Rosalie. "No one would put a newborn in a room for years with no human contact, just to see what would happen. But we have cases of extreme abuse where children were discovered in, essentially, very similar conditions. From subsequent attempts to teach them, we know that there is a very small window of time in which primary language acquisition can occur. After about age five, that window closes. The brain literally can't learn its first language—not in any meaningful way. Individual words, yes, but not the complexities of grammar, syntax, connotation. What Jasper's saying is, if she wasn't exposed to language at a sufficiently early age, her development will be adversely affected for the rest of her life."

"To the point where she'd be institutionalized?" Rosalie asked bluntly.

"Likely—yes." Edward had to admit that the possible implications were severe. But there was something about this girl...he wasn't qualified to pass judgment on her past, nor did he have any basis to do so. But something in him didn't believe that she was incapable of comprehending. It was more like...more like she _wouldn't_. As if she'd learned, or taught herself, to disregard human speech for some odd reason. And it was clear that she did understand at least a few words. _Bath_, definitely. And she knew James' name, though as far as Edward was concerned, she could forget it. He was never letting that bastard near her again.

"That's terrible," Alice said. "That a normal, healthy baby could be institutionalized just because nobody ever talked to it..."

"The brain is a complex and delicate mechanism," Edward said, smiling at the indignant anger in her face. "You've heard of attachment disorder, right?"

"Isn't that an orphanage thing?"

"That's where it's been most studied, yes," Edward confirmed. "First in orphanages in the former Soviet Union, and now also in Latin America. Attachment disorders—there are a number, and range of severity—happen when a child receives little to no interaction during a critical stage in its development. There are two main causes—either there is no primary caregiver to whom the child can form an emotional attachment, or the primary caregiver is neglectful and/or abusive. Again, a child can be born perfectly healthy but effectively be ruined by age four or five."

"Are you saying you think that happened to her?" Alice asked, her eyes wide.

"I have no idea what happened to her," Edward replied. The girl in his arms nestled closer to him, nuzzling his shoulder softly. Her tears had stopped during the conversation, though she did not seem at all interested in leaving the safety of his arms. "We have absolutely no basis to make any sort of assumption or diagnosis of her mental or emotional health."

"Edward's right," Carlisle said gently, squeezing Esme's hand when it found his. "What we need to focus on right now is meeting her physical needs—food, warmth, safety—as best we can. The rest will come in time."

"Which reminds me," Edward said, grateful to bring the topic back to something much more salient than hypothetical diagnoses. "She bolted some toast this morning, then threw it up. I'm sorry—it's my fault. I shouldn't have let her have it."

"Don't worry, Edward," Carlisle said. "Toast in itself wasn't such a bad thing to try. I imagine it was just too much for her stomach to handle. Right now, she needs very, very small meals. We have to ease her digestive tract back into use and hope she doesn't develop refeeding syndrome."

"What do you suggest?"

"Protein, carbs, and vitamins, all in very small portions, two to three hours apart, along with fluids. Right now we'll have to administer IV fluids to make sure she doesn't dehydrate—her body just can't take the kind of flushing her system would go through if we started forcing water down her throat."

"Will she sit still for that?" Emmett asked doubtfully.

"If she doesn't, there's always the Ativan."

Edward understood that's what the medication was for, but he still didn't like the thought of drugging her without her knowledge. So much had already clearly been done to her without her consent, and he desperately did not want to make it any worse. Though, he had to admit, except in the most basic sense—whether she physically struggled or not—it was difficult to know whether she really consented to anything.

"Why don't we heat her some more potato?" Carlisle suggested. "To make sure her stomach is settled. Then, in a few hours, we can try protein."

"Does that sound good?" Edward asked, stroking his hand against the girl's tearstained cheek. "I think you'll be happy to get some food back in your stomach."

She looked at him with those big, liquid eyes, her expression unsure as it flicked back and forth between Edward's face and the cluster of other people in the room.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "It's okay. No one will hurt you here."

She nestled further into his arms, blinking slowly. It was obvious to Edward that she was still tired—would probably be for some time, what with all the stress she must be under. But she would not let her eyes fall closed for more than a moment, always snapping them back open to stare at the strangers in the room. She seemed fascinated with the three women, the implications of which were too great for Edward to deal with at the moment. And, fascination or not, she did not seem particularly trusting of any of the newcomers.

"It's wonderful that she trusts you so," Esme said softly.

"I don't think she has much choice in the matter," he answered darkly. "She's completely at our mercy. If she didn't find one of us to trust, I'm afraid she'd panic herself into a coma."

"That isn't literally possible," Carlisle said, entering the room with another tiny bowl of potato and a glass half-full of water.

"Like I told you last night, maybe it's not for a normal person," Edward said. "But I don't believe she knows what _normal_ even is."

Carlisle did not attempt to contradict Edward. Instead, he handed the bowl to him.

The girl's interest was caught by the food, and she turned her head slightly on Edward's shoulder, her nostrils fluttering as she sniffed the air.

"Why don't we go to the kitchen for some coffee?" Jasper said, glancing at the girl and then Edward. It was a meaningful gesture. Whether the girl cared or not, he was giving her a chance to eat without an audience.

The others did not seem particularly pleased with this idea, but Jasper and Carlisle insisted. Edward understood what they were trying to do. He admitted that their reasoning was sound—if the poor girl was too upset, she wouldn't eat. At the very least, they could take some of the attention off of her.

"Beautiful," Edward said softly, "I know you have to be hungry. Let's try this again, shall we?"

She said nothing, nor did Edward expect her to, but she watched eagerly as Edward spooned up a mouthful of food and offered it to her. It disappeared quickly into her mouth and she even smiled slightly, an expression of satisfaction playing over her lips.

"Slowly now," Edward cautioned. "I don't want you to throw up again."

She ignored him, watching the spoon eagerly for more.

"Would you maybe like to try holding the spoon yourself?" Edward asked. "We tried before, but you were a little confused and very scared." He spooned up another bit and offered her the handle of the utensil, wrapping her fingers around it as she sat curled in his lap.

"You try," he urged. Her eyes were big and unsure, watching the object in her hand as if it might move on its own. But it did not, and after a moment she hesitantly raised the spoon to her lips.

She held it clenched in a tight fist, and her movements were jerky and awkward, but she managed to feed herself the rest of the potato, and Edward had to restrain her from putting her finger in the bowl to scoop up the last little dregs.

"I know," he said softly, putting the bowl down on the coffee table. "You're hungry; I understand. I wish I could give you more, but Carlisle is right. It won't do you any good if you just throw it back up."

To placate her Edward handed her the cup of water, which she downed quickly. He listened to the low hum of voices from the kitchen, watching the girl for any sign that she was going to be sick again. She didn't turn green or start to tremble, just nuzzled close against his neck, exhaled softly, and let him hold her.

"So beautiful," he murmured, stroking her matted hair. "So sweet. You really are a remarkable girl. So strong, having survived what you have."

Her breath was warm against his collarbone, and Edward suspected she was nearly asleep before the cautious tread of feet re-entered the room.

"Hi, Wisp," Alice said hesitantly.

The girl's head rolled slowly toward the voice, though she did not raise it from Edward's shoulder. Her delicate hand, resting lightly on his forearm, tightened reflexively.

"She won't hurt you," he said, rubbing her back, wishing he knew how to soothe her fears. "Alice is nice."

"I'm very nice," Alice agreed. "Can I do something for you? To show you?"

No response.

"Why don't we see what we can do about your hair? It can't be comfortable, having that big knotted mess pulling at your scalp."

Edward didn't see why tangled hair would pull any more than smooth hair, but he kept his mouth shut. He watched as Alice fetched a big bath towel from his bathroom and spread it out on the couch next to him.

"Let's just get you settled," Alice suggested.

Since the tiny meal did not seem to be disagreeing with the girl's stomach, Edward consented to ease her slowly off of his lap. She whimpered slightly but did not fight him as he placed her on the floor, her back against the couch, as Alice instructed. Alice pulled her hair up to spread out on the towel and the girl flinched, but she did not pull away.

"Good girl," Edward soothed, kneeling next to her. He cupped her cheek in his hand, her skin soft against his fingers, and she looked at him worriedly. "Alice won't hurt you. She's only here to help."

"That's me! Your friendly neighborhood emergency salon. I'm like 911 for hair and clothes—I come to your house and everything." She giggled, reached into her huge bag, and produced a handful of combs from fine-toothed to wider varieties. Next she pulled out a spritzer bottle filled with water, then a bottle of something called Johnson & Johnson No More Tangles. "When in doubt," she said, showing the bottle to the girl, "always defer to the experts. I haven't had long hair in years, but this trusty secret has never let me down before."

The others trickled back into the room, some holding mugs of coffee, all wearing identical expressions of caution. They kept their distance, watching as Alice doused the girl's hair in the mild-smelling product, then began at the ends with a wide-toothed comb. Wisp kept trying to turn her head to watch what Alice was doing but, once she realized that wasn't going to work, she tucked her knees up close to her chest and submitted.

"Edward?"

Edward glanced at Carlisle and managed a weak smile. "She seems fine," he said. "No nausea so far."

"Good. We'll start her on some bland protein in a few hours—maybe some chicken breast?"

"I have some up at the house," Esme murmured, her eyes never leaving the little ball of girl with her tangled hair splayed out on the towel. "I'll go get it. We should go grocery shopping for her."

Carlisle held up his hands. "Let's not get carried away until we know she'll be staying. Any word, Emmett?"

"She doesn't fit the description of any missing persons case we've found. The Chief isn't opposed to her staying here, what with you being a doctor and all, but he really doesn't know what the protocol might be. He put a call in to DHS to see if they can help; they said they're sending someone out from Seattle."

Edward listened with mixed emotions. While he was glad, on the one hand, that the state was taking this seriously, he did not particularly relish the idea of a specialist coming to assess his little Wisp as if she were a problem. Nor did he want her taken away, potentially to be warehoused in some facility where she would be terrified all over again. He couldn't explain it, even to himself. The urge to nurture had never hit him before, not even when he held friends' babies. But he did not want this girl to be scared or alone. It looked like she'd had far too much of that already in her young life.

She put up with Alice's ministrations remarkably well, sitting still and quiet as the comb slowly worked through her hair. Giant, spidery snarls pulled away in the teeth of the comb with almost every pass, though Alice was clearly trying to be gentle. It almost looked as if she were shedding.

"Will she have any hair left at the end of this?" Edward muttered worriedly.

"It's okay," Esme said, shifting closer and settling near him on the floor. "This is actually good, believe it or not. As the brittle, unhealthy hair falls away, it gives newer, healthier hair room to grow."

By dint of much picking, combing, and grumbling by Alice, finally the girl's hair was turned from a tumbleweed into a smooth, dark fall. It looked unpleasantly oily from all the product Alice had plied but, since the girl didn't mind bathing, that was easily remedied.

"Don't you feel so much better now?" Alice asked, smiling at the girl. "How about your nails? Can I see your nails? Or we could exfoliate. I know a great - "

"Not now, Alice," Edward said, trying his best to keep his voice level. Rosalie's fierce growl had scared his little Wisp earlier, and he did not want to do it again. "One thing at a time. She's easily overwhelmed right now."

"And she's also due for more fluids, if she'll let us," Carlisle said, glancing at Jasper.

"I'll just go back to the house and find that chicken," Esme said nervously. She cast a glance at Rose, but the tall blonde remained where she was. It was clear that she did not feel like escaping the coming ordeal.

"I'll go with you, Esme." Alice jumped up from her seat, which made Wisp flinch away from the sudden movement. She looked around quickly, her eyes finding Edward and her body moving toward him before she suddenly stopped, brought up swiftly by something in her own head. He watched with misgiving as a flash of horrified realization crossed her delicate face, and she quickly scooted back into the exact spot where Alice had placed her, ducking her head in what looked like either fear or contrition.

"No, little Wisp," Edward said softly, and even though his tone of voice was gentle, she still flinched at the word. He knelt next to her and touched her shoulder softly, tipping her chin up with his other hand.

Tears glimmered in her eyes, and her breathing had increased again. Soft, panting breaths left her slightly-open mouth as she stared up at Edward in worry.

"You're not in trouble," he tried to reassure her. "You're absolutely fine. You did nothing wrong."

She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, biting on it as the first tear fell from her eye. Edward sighed and reached forward, picking her up. He didn't particularly want her product-laden hair leaning against his shirt but, really, that was the least of their worries right now. He settled on the couch with her in his lap again, hoping she would feel safe there, since she'd reached to him for comfort more than once now. She burrowed into his shoulder, exhaling softly against him, and he rubbed her back carefully.

"We'll try the left arm," Carlisle was saying to Jasper, "since I used the right last night. I'd prefer not to overtax any one vein."

"Do we have to do this right now?" Edward held her close. She was frightened, trembling lightly in his arms. Whether Alice's abrupt departure had really startled her so much or the fear of being punished for leaving her spot by the couch, it was impossible to say.

"Waiting won't make it any easier," Carlisle reasoned, which Edward supposed was true enough. He watched as his uncle and Jasper began laying out equipment on the coffee table: a bag of sterile saline, tubing, a sterile needle, alcohol pads.

Wisp watched them, too, her wary eyes flicking from one blond man to the other, observing the items they set out. She did not seem overly fearful of the needle, which Edward took to mean that she either couldn't tell what it was, or honestly had never seen one before. Either was possible. If she hadn't had appropriate medical care in a very long time, perhaps ever, it was entirely probable that she had no idea what that needle was for.

"This made her cold last night," he reminded Carlisle.

"Rosalie, would you fill a mixing bowl with hot tap water?" the older doctor requested.

Rosalie did as asked without complaint—not a common occurrence for her—and returned with a faintly steaming metal mixing bowl.

"Okay, Edward, if we're going to try this with her conscious today, we need your help."

"I don't want to hurt her," Edward said quickly, his arms tightening involuntarily around the small body in his arms. She trusted him, and he _knew_ this was going to frighten her. That wasn't the sort of dynamic he wanted to build with her at all.

"If we're all calm, this doesn't have to be an ordeal," Jasper reminded him. He was using his pediatrician voice, the one that soothed both frightened children and their irate parents, and though Edward knew this, he felt slightly better. Jasper was used to dealing with children, who didn't always understand what was going on. In that respect, he was just the sort of doctor Wisp needed.

Jasper knelt down in front of the couch and smiled comfortingly at the girl pressed close to Edward's chest. "Hi, Wisp," he said. "I'm a doctor, like Carlisle, and we need to get some fluid in you. You're very dehydrated. That means your body doesn't have enough water and it's making you sick. We're going to do our best to fix that."

She did not respond, but she wasn't struggling to get away from Jasper's close proximity either.

"We're going to find a good place on your arm, and then attach this bag to you for a little while." Jasper held up the floppy bag of saline. "It will drip into your arm, and hopefully you'll feel better. What do you think?"

She was paying keen attention to everything he said, her eyes trained on him, her hand twisted lightly in Edward's shirt.

"I won't leave you," Edward promised. "I'll be right here the whole time."

Carefully Jasper helped Edward maneuver them on the couch until Edward was sitting straight and the girl on his lap was pressed to his chest, back to front. She did not seem to like it and tried to curl sideways back into his embrace, but Edward held her steady. "Just for a little while," he urged, "and then I'll hold you all you like."

Her lip was between her teeth again, but she didn't fight when Jasper gently pushed up the long, baggy sleeve of the thermal shirt Edward had loaned her. In fact, she actually looked interested as he ripped open an alcohol swab and swirled it in the crook of her elbow.

"Distract her for a moment, Edward," he said softly.

Edward felt guilty as he raised his right hand and tickled her ear, pulling her attention away from her arm held in Jasper's grasp. Carlisle was near them too but had not touched her, and she didn't seem nearly as afraid of him as she'd been the night before.

The moment her head turned toward the light touch, Jasper slid the needle into her vein. The girl instantly stiffened and yelped quietly, but Jasper held her arm firmly so she could not move it and foul the vein. He attached the saline drip with precision, put the bag in the bowl of warm water, and balanced everything on the back of the couch just as Carlisle had done the night before.

"There," he said, smiling at the girl in Edward's arms. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

She ignored him, staring in fascination at the needle taped to her arm, emptying a steady drip of liquid into the vein.

"I'm sorry," Edward said, releasing his held breath. "If I knew how to warn you beforehand, I would have. Jasper tried to tell you exactly what he was doing. It won't hurt anymore, I promise, little Wisp. You just have to hold still for a little while."

She raised her free hand to try to touch the taped needle, but Edward prevented her. "Mustn't touch," he said, holding her delicate hand in his. "You're not in trouble, little one, but it's not a good idea to touch."

In one way she was definitely _not_ like a child—once told no, she obeyed. She leaned back against Edward's shoulder, watching the tube attached to her arm but not attempting to touch it again.

"She really is remarkably lovely," Jasper said quietly, kneeling next to the couch and studying her face. "I wonder if that might be at least part of the reason why she ended up as she did."

"Vulnerability plus beauty is a bad combination," Carlisle agreed, his face grim.

"He didn't say anything?" Edward asked Emmett, raising his eyes to the police officer with the video camera. He already knew James wasn't talking, but it was so frustrating not knowing anything about this girl.

"Nothing relevant. Some boys are out at Mike's place, getting all the background on James they can. When they get back, maybe we'll have a better understanding of how long he might have had her."

"That animal can rot in hell," Rosalie muttered.

"If god exists," Jasper said, "he will."

"Nobody's told me why she reacted so strongly to Alice when she first saw her," Emmett complained. "All you said was that Alice didn't know her."

"Of course Alice doesn't know her," Rosalie snapped. Even Emmett, who she loved unconditionally, was not immune from her temper. "I thought that was perfectly clear."

"Well, tell the camera," Emmett said, "because from where I was standing, it wasn't."

Edward shared a glance with Rose. It was obvious they both had the same suspicion about Wisp's reaction to Alice. "We can't be sure," he said slowly, "but I don't think she's seen another female before, Em. Not that she remembers, anyway."

"What the _fuck_," Emmett hissed. "That's not fucking possible, man."

"Language, Emmett," Carlisle said, more out of reflex than any real irritation.

"I think Edward's right." Rose crossed her arms over her chest. "She was touching Alice, then touching herself. Lips, collarbone—all these things that are different on a woman. It was like...like she was looking in a mirror for the first time."

"She's obviously smart enough to know she's not a man," Edward agreed. "She had to have realized at some point that her body doesn't look like a man's. But if she never had another woman to compare herself to, suddenly seeing three of them at once was probably incredibly jarring."

"And she sought you out for safety," Jasper said, smiling at Edward. "You're her safe harbor right now, Mr. Sociologist."

"I'll gladly be that." Edward glanced at the bag of saline. It was nearly empty. "For as long as she needs it."

"Then," Emmett said, shifting the video camera to his other hand, "what we've got to do is convince the expert from DHS that your little Wisp needs to stay here."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I am absolutely blown away by the response to this little plot bunny! I'm honored, truly. Thanks so much for the sweet reviews. For those of you wanting to know Bella/Wisp's history, we won't be having any explanatory flashbacks or anything. We'll learn about her as Edward and the others do. What can I say? I enjoy the slow burn.  
_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

She liked chicken.

Of course, she seemed to like just about everything put in front of her, with the possible exception of mistakenly swallowed toothpaste. Esme cut about a third of a cooked chicken breast into small bite-sized pieces and, after seeing Wisp's propensity to stuff everything in her mouth she could, they gave them to her one at a time. Rosalie muttered darkly that it was like giving treats to a dog, but Edward couldn't think of any other way to keep her from bolting the food and making herself sick. Carlisle said it could take a few days of tiny, frequent feedings before her stomach could handle more than a few bites at a time.

After eating, the girls insisted on giving Wisp her second bath. It was getting late in the day and Edward had no notion of how much more stamina she had in her before she fell asleep again, but he still hesitated. She hadn't been alone with any of the newcomers yet—hadn't been without him except for the few hours she spent sleeping in the guest room. There was no way to judge how she would react, and he didn't want her to panic.

"You can try," he said finally—not that Alice was exactly asking his permission, despite it being _his_ cabin. "But don't push her, please? I hate it when she cries."

"Yes, _dad_," Alice said, rolling her eyes. She grabbed her giant bag and disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later, Edward heard the sound of water running.

Wisp heard it, too. Her head snapped around to peer at the open bathroom door.

"It's okay," he said carefully, watching her closely as she stared. "They just want to help you take a bath. You liked it before."

She ignored his words, continuing to watch the bathroom doorway.

"I guess I'm doing the honors?" Rosalie stood, her tone not nearly as biting as usual. She crossed the room to Edward and Wisp, whose attention snapped to her like a broken rubber band. "Come on, kiddo. Apparently you like baths, and we've got to get that oily mess of product out of your hair."

The girl chewed on her lower lip, eying Rose with an expression Edward couldn't quite read but he _knew_ wasn't trust. She leaned slightly away from the tall, blond woman, her expressive eyes growing bigger as Rosalie neared.

"You don't know that she's a kid," Emmett protested. "She could be older than you."

"Chronological age is nothing but a number. In that head of hers she's still a child, no matter what James used her for. Aren't you, kid?" Her voice was softer than Edward had ever heard it. "Yeah, you're just a baby in this world."

Wisp's head whipped around the moment Rosalie uttered that name, searching the room frantically as if her captor might have magically appeared.

"Easy," Edward said quickly, drawing her closer to his chest as they sat on the floor. "Shh. It's okay, little Wisp. He's not here. He won't be able to hurt you ever again."

She tucked herself fully into the comforting circle of his arms, hiding her head in the crook of his neck. Edward stroked her product-laden hair, hanging straight and heavy down her back. Her nose nuzzled against his scruffy throat, reminding him that he hadn't shaved in at least two days now. The rough texture couldn't be pleasant against her tender skin.

But when he tried to readjust her, pulling her away from his scratchy neck and jaw, she whimpered softly. That tiny sound stopped him and he gave up, letting her hide where she would. He was absolutely unable to resist that noise.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Rosalie said.

"Clearly she does recognize some words," Jasper added. "Not that I'd advocate saying that one again."

The girl moved slightly, just enough so that she could tip her head up and look at Edward. Her big eyes were wet and pleading, though for what, he didn't know. He wished he did. That expression broke his heart—tears brimming in soft brown eyes, her delicate features _willing_ him to understand, to give her what she desperately needed. Maybe it was as simple as his promise, which he doubted she had understood. Maybe all she wanted was to stay here, with him, because the only other alternative she knew was to go back to James.

"I'm not sending you back there," he said slowly, wishing he knew a better way to communicate with her. What he wouldn't give for some Jedi mind powers right about now. "No one will. You're safe, little one. Safe."

Her expression did not change, her eyes darting back and forth between his, pleading for something he couldn't give her because he didn't understand. Finally, with a small sigh, she lowered her head again and pressed herself close into his arms.

Edward held her for a long moment, wishing desperately that he could ease her fears. She was so frightened and, while it was understandable, it made his heart hurt.

"Water's ready!" Alice called from the bathroom.

"Maybe we should wait," Edward suggested, looking at Rosalie for confirmation. "She's so afraid, and I don't want—"

"Waiting won't make her any less afraid," Carlisle broke in gently. "It's a good idea to see what happens when she's parted from you."

"I don't want her to feel abandoned," Edward argued, though he knew Carlisle was right Even if DHS let her stay, the reality was that he couldn't hold her twenty-four hours a day. Sooner or later she was going to have to try being on her own.

It was still with great reluctance that Edward moved her gently out of his arms, letting Rosalie pick her up. The girl did not struggle—she had yet to put up an actual fight—but her face was a mask of fear as Edward handed her over.

"It's okay," he soothed, stroking her cheek with his fingers, letting her clutch them tightly when she grabbed for him. "Everything's fine. Bath, little Wisp. You liked it last night. Wouldn't you like another one?"

She cocked her head to the side, her lower lip between her teeth again, but she did not let go of him. He knew that if he forced her hand away she wouldn't struggle, but he couldn't make himself do it. "Maybe I'd better go with you," he said, glancing quickly at Rose. "Just until she realizes no one's going to hurt her."

The blond woman shrugged. "Suit yourself."

So Edward took Wisp's hand reassuringly, walking alongside as Rose carried her into the bathroom.

"What's _he_ doing here?" Alice accused when she saw the three of them.

"Poor thing, she's scared," Esme said softly. "But she let you pick her up, Rose."

"Edward handed her over," Rosalie corrected. "Something tells me that might make a difference."

Edward grimaced, but it was probably true. The little mystery girl had accepted him as her safety, and also her authority. She didn't struggle when he held her, didn't turn her face away when he offered her food or drink. She let him dress her and brush her teeth despite these being utterly foreign experiences for her. It was trust—he couldn't say it wasn't. But it was also clearly a conditioned response.

"Let's get her in the bath and see if that helps. You said she liked it last night." Esme moved forward slowly. "Hi, honey. I won't hurt you. Let's get you out of those clothes so we can put you in the bath, okay?"

Wisp did not respond, but she gripped Edward's hand a little tighter. He squeezed back, hoping it gave her at least a little comfort, as his aunt and Rosalie started maneuvering her out of her too-big clothes.

Once again, being naked did not seem to faze her at all. She didn't cling to her clothes, didn't make any attempt to hide her body, though she did gaze wistfully at the soft, warm pile of discarded fabric once she was bare.

"Into the water now," Esme said. "Gently, Rose. Don't drop her."

"I won't."

Edward wasn't worried. Rosalie was tall and strong, and she worked on cars for a living. That girl had some muscle. He watched as she lowered Wisp carefully into the tub.

"I wanted to use bubbles," Alice was saying, perched on the wide lip of the bathtub, "but I didn't know if they would irritate her skin. Next time."

Wisp had let go of his hand as she was lowered into the tub, and Edward watched her carefully. She didn't seem panicked anymore, and she was swirling her hands through the water, a shiver of delight running up her bare spine.

"I think she's okay now, Edward," Alice said. "You can go."

He made a face behind her back, finding himself wanting to stay at least a little longer. To see if his little mystery girl needed him. But Carlisle was right—they needed to know that she could stand the separation. Slowly he took a backward step toward the door, then another.

All seemed well until Alice tried to shut the door. The minute the latch clicked, a soft keening sound erupted from behind it. Edward was back inside in an instant, only to find Wisp kneeling in the tub, her eyes frantic as she searched for him.

"It's okay," he soothed, kneeling next to the tub and helping her back into the water. "It's okay. I'm just right outside the door. You're fine. Esme and the girls won't hurt you."

She pushed close to him, her wet little body hot from the water, and he stroked her pinkened skin. "You need to learn that you're okay even if you can't see me."

"We can leave the door open," Esme suggested, her hands fluttering helplessly at her sides. "That's what seemed to scare her."

"She wasn't afraid when I left her alone in here earlier," Edward protested.

"She also wasn't faced with three strangers then," Rosalie reasoned. "Let's try it. Go out the door, Edward, but leave it open this time. See what she does."

He didn't want to leave her when she was upset, but they were giving him little choice. Edward bit back a sigh and moved slowly away from her.

She stayed in the tub where Edward had settled her, but her eyes followed his every move and her chest rose and fell quickly with short, tense breaths. He ached to stay with her, to erase the crease of worry that had appeared between her eyes, but he couldn't. Not if she was ever going to learn to trust others. It was hard to move his feet away from her big, scared eyes, but he made himself do it. He eased out of the bathroom, and breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't hear her cry this time.

"I'm right out here," he said as he moved to the side and out of her line of sight. "You're fine, and I'll be right there if you need me."

"You boys stay away," Alice ordered. "_She_ doesn't seem to care who sees her naked, but I do, and I'm getting in with her."

"Alice, why on earth—" Jasper began, but she cut him off.

"How else am I to show her the proper way to preen?"

Jasper and Edward looked at each other helplessly. Alice would always be Alice, but Edward doubted his quiet little guest would be able to appreciate "preening" to the extent that Alice took it. If she looked at him like he was crazy when he brushed her teeth, who knew what she would think of things like facials and manicures?

"Edward," Carlisle said slowly, once it was clear Wisp was not going to object as long as her path to Edward stayed clear, "I think you need to start preparing yourself for the very real possibility that the state won't let her stay here."

Edward stared stonily through the big living room windows. He knew that he was no expert in trauma or abnormal psychology. He didn't know how to help this girl except by instinct. Objectively, she probably _would_ be better off in a place where highly-trained people could give her the benefit of their wisdom and experience.

But, subjectively, he wasn't at all sure that moving her was a good idea. She was a nervous little thing, panicking sometimes at the smallest provocation. She had also apparently decided that Edward was her safety zone, and he hated the thought of taking that away from her. She was completely lost in a place she didn't understand, surrounded by strangers who kept doing strange things to her. Even if her previous life was unpleasant, it was familiar. Probably very little had been comforting and easy for her since she woke up on his couch. The worst part was, they couldn't use words to explain to her what was going on. They didn't know her name, and all communication was at the most basic level. She had literally _nothing—_not even clothes on her back until Edward gave them to her—and there was absolutely no way to imagine what her previous life with James must have been like. She had nothing...except Edward.

And he found himself wanting to be that for her—to be the safe harbor she could latch onto when she was scared or unsure. Now formed, who knew what would happen if that bond were severed? If she were taken away to yet another foreign place without understanding how or why, what would happen to her fragile psyche? Edward was no psychologist so he couldn't answer the question, but he knew enough that he was worried.

"You're a doctor," he said, knowing it wasn't much of an argument. "So is Jasper, and Emmett is a police officer. Surely you would be good people to watch over her."

"I think so, too, but we're not social workers. We're not representatives of the state. We're not even certified foster parents, which might be something. They're going to want answers about how she got this way and who's responsible, and those are answers we can't give them. We can't even tell them we're likely to _get_ that information from her, because she doesn't speak. Other than medical care, which any MD worth his diploma could give, we don't have much to offer."

"What about her comfort?" Edward protested. "Isn't that something important we can offer? She'll be terrified if they take her away, you know she will."

"All I'm saying," Carlisle said said, "is that we have to prepare ourselves for the possibility. If they decide she's better off with someone else or at a facility, there's nothing we can do. They're the experts. Finders keepers doesn't work with human beings."

Giggles floated their way from the bathroom—definitely Alice. Edward lifted one corner of his mouth, though he didn't feel very mirthful. "I just want what's best for her. If a facility really is, then fine. But I'm not sure it is."

"It's not up for you to decide, though." Emmett shrugged his broad shoulders and slumped in an armchair, legs splayed out in front of him.

Edward already knew that, but it didn't help how he felt.

* * *

"Edward was right—you do love baths." Alice laughed as Wisp settled happily into the hot water, her hands swirling back and forth in the warmth. "Pretty cute."

"Let's see if we can't get some of that product out of your hair," Esme suggested.

"Way ahead of you." Alice pulled open her huge bag, producing big bottles of Kerastase shampoo and conditioner for damaged hair. "I could _smell_ the man-shampoo on her the minute I got close. I'd like to use something a little more girly since she looks so young, but first we need to see what kind of damage that hair's sustained. God only knows what kind of care routine she's had."

"Uh...how about none?" Rosalie sat on the edge of the tub as Alice dug through her bag and extracted a bottle of equally expensive body wash and a hot pink bath pouf. "You saw her and heard what Edward said about finding her. I don't expect she had any 'care routine' other than, oh, staying alive."

Alice made a face at Rose, then went back to her bag. "All the more reason for us to introduce her to the wonderful world of pampering, then."

After she was sure she had everything she needed lined up on the edge of the tub, Alice pulled off her shirt.

"You're really going to do this," Rosalie deadpanned. "Isn't it taking things a little over the top?"

"Why?" Alice looked utterly serious.

Wisp watched intently as Alice shed her black bra, kicked off her shoes, and slipped out of her skirt. She made no noise, but her eyes grew bigger and bigger as Alice's little scrap of underwear fell away.

"Make room," Alice sang, "I'm coming in."

There was no need for Wisp to make room in such a big tub. The other two could probably have joined them as well, though it would have been quite a snug fit. Alice splashed into the water across from Wisp, settling in comfortably.

"Now that it's just us girls," she said, "we can do what we like." She winked playfully.

"Gently, Alice," Esme reminded her. "Don't scare the girl."

"I won't," Alice said confidently. "I can be calm."

"Slow," Rosalie warned. "One wrong move and you'll have Edward back in here, and I don't think you want that."

Alice stuck her tongue out at Rose, then turned to Wisp. "Let the pampering commence! Can you cross your legs so I can reach you?" She moved her hands under the water, gripping the girl's legs and bending them. Wisp was like a little rag doll, moving as directed, staying where put. A puzzled frown still marred her forehead, but she didn't seem panicked. She watched Alice move closer until they were sitting face-to-face, knee-to-knee, and Esme handed Alice the cup Edward had used last night to pour water over the girl's hair.

"Here we go," Alice said happily, dipping up a cup of water and pouring it over the girl's head. Her face scrunched up and her eyes closed instinctively as water trickled down, but she didn't cry out.

"Now you do me." Alice handed her the cup.

It took a little coaxing, but finally Wisp understood that when the cup was placed in her hand, she was to pour water over Alice's short black hair. They traded back and forth until both were far wetter than they needed to be, Wisp actually looking like she was having fun though they didn't manage to get a smile out of her.

"Shampoo," Alice finally announced, and she reached for the expensive bottle of reparative cleanser. "Will you turn around?"

But when they tried to guide her, Wisp sat firm. She curled in on herself, bringing her knees to her chest and hiding her head, but she would not turn her back to Alice.

"Don't push her," Esme said softly, stroking Wisp's wet, clinging hair. "Obviously we've found something she's willing to argue about—she doesn't want to be so vulnerable. Let her win this one."

"But it's so much easier front to back." Alice frowned, then grinned. "I know—we'll do me first. Give her a palm of shampoo, Esme." She turned her back to the cowering girl, waiting patiently.

"Honey," Esme crooned, "it's okay. No one will make you. Look—Alice has already moved on."

It took a while, but eventually Esme coaxed her to unfold. She poured a handful of shampoo in her hand, then took a little herself and began working it into Alice's hair.

"See, like this," she said, physically moving Wisp's hands to Alice's wet head.

Her motions were slow and hesitant, and she did not grow more confident as they thoroughly massaged shampoo into Alice's hair and then Esme gave her the cup to rinse it. Her hands were trembling slightly, and Esme didn't know why. Maybe it was just too much stimulation all at once—too many new people, too many new experiences.

"Here, baby," Esme said, beginning to lather Wisp's hair. It was incredibly long, hanging dark and heavy all the way down her back. "Alice, I think this whole interactive element is getting to be too much for her."

"She's fine," Alice insisted, finding Wisp's eyes and smiling encouragingly at her. "It's good for her to get some girl time."

"Since it seems she's never had it before," Rosalie said darkly. "Look at her, Esme—she's completely bare. No body hair."

"I noticed," Esme said, a crease appearing between her brows. "But she has breasts and her hipbones have obviously widened—she's not a child."

"Laser removal, then. Or electrolysis, but that's going out of fashion now that lasers have moved in." Rosalie scowled. "Who wants to bet she didn't consent to having that marker of adulthood taken away from her?"

"Technicians need training and certification to work those machines, don't they?" Esme questioned as she began to rinse Wisp's hair. Alice put her hands on the girl's forehead to shield her eyes from the soap. "Maybe that's a clue. Maybe a technician might remember her." It was a stretch, but so was everything else at this point.

Alice wet the hot pink body pouf and squeezed the rich body wash into a foamy lather. She then handed it to Wisp and extended a leg, inviting the girl to start at her feet as Esme worked a reparative conditioner into the long, dark hair. It didn't take long for Wisp to catch on this time, and she seemed absolutely fascinated as she moved the pouf across Alice's skin. She poked with a curious finger at Alice's red-painted toes, which made Alice giggle. "We'll do yours," she promised. "You'll be so pretty."

"She's already pretty," Esme said, smiling fondly at the girl. "Such a sweet face. I can't stand thinking about what she must have been through."

Wisp took no notice, paying close attention instead to the pouf in her hand. She washed Alice's leg carefully, her movements slow, staring at the slim, feminine calf.

"Don't startle her, Alice," Rosalie cautioned. They watched as the girl's free hand followed the motion of the pouf, her fingertips just barely grazing Alice's skin, then pressing a little harder, smoothing over her.

"I'm just like you," Alice said, repeating her words from earlier. "We're all women, Wisp. It's something to be proud of—I'm definitely glad I'm not a smelly man." She wrinkled her nose comically.

The girl ignored Alice's words, her concentration limited to the slim, sleek leg. She worked the pouf up higher, touching Alice's thigh. Alice didn't seem to mind, just as she had not minded when Wisp touched her in the living room.

"You're just confused right now," she soothed. "It will get better. I promise. Edward is a great guy, and so are we. Not guys, of course, but great." She grinned.

A frown of confusion was back on Wisp's face, and she paused her hands near the apex of Alice's thighs. The water was a little soapy, but their bodies were clearly visible under the surface.

"You can touch me," Alice murmured. "I don't mind. I know you don't understand, but me and Rosalie and Esme, we're really just like you."

Perhaps this was the real reason Alice had volunteered to get in the bath with the girl. Esme held her breath, watching with tears in her eyes as Alice let Wisp's little fingers trail across her labia, touching the feminine folds that, if Rosalie's hunch was true, she'd never seen on anyone but herself before. She dropped the pink pouf and slipped her other hand across her own skin, mimicking the touch on both bodies.

"Just like you," Alice said gently, smiling at the girl. "We're the same, see?"

Wisp's fingers combed through the neatly-groomed patch of dark curls at the apex of Alice's thighs, and her frown deepened when she covered the same spot on her own body, pink and bare.

"I'm sorry, little one," Rosalie said, scowling. The fist on her damaged arm clenched tightly. "That's just one of many things he took from you."

"Well," Alice said, "look at the bright side—you won't have to worry about maintenance down there." She touched Wisp's cheek gently. "There's no point in focusing on the past, because we can't change it. All we can do is make things better going forward."

It was remarkably good advice from the normally flighty Alice, and Esme tried to smile as they finished bathing the girl. She really did seem to enjoy the water, and she gave a soft sigh when it swirled down the drain.

They dressed her in Edward's clothes again, since Alice had not brought anything else. "I'll get her measurements," she said, "and then we'll be able to get her some nice girly clothes."

She sat willingly enough on the edge of the tub as Rosalie combed her hair, and she didn't struggle when Alice produced a pair of shears and proceeded to cut several inches. "Shampoo can't do everything," she said, "even with a good deep conditioner to help. We'll just get rid of some of these ends, and you'll feel so much better."

But when Alice pulled out the hair dryer and turned it on, the girl's eyes widened. She shrank away from the noise, her eyes immediately darting toward the open doorway.

"Shh, it's okay," Alice said quickly. "Look, I'll do me first. See?" She aimed the hot stream of air at her own head, maneuvering into Wisp's line of sight. "See? It doesn't hurt. It's just a little loud."

The girl did not look convinced, and she huddled miserably as Alice approached with the appliance. She was trembling again, but she wasn't running away or fighting them.

"Alice, don't do it if she's scared," Rosalie said, but Alice was already aiming the dryer at the girl's hair.

"She'll like it once she sees that it's just warm air," Alice insisted.

Whether she liked it or not, she sat through the process stoically. To their surprise, once clean and dry, her hair had a decided tendency to curl. It was lush and soft after the deep conditioning, rich red glints teased from the brown.

"You're beautiful, honey," Esme said, smiling as she applied some balm to the girl's chapped and swollen lips. "Alice, I think that's enough for now."

"But I have a moisturizing face mask!" Alice protested. "Body butter, stuff for her nails..."

"Esme's right," Rose said. "She's had enough. Look at her."

Her eyes were still open and wondering, but there were dark bruise-like smudges underneath. She huddled into her big clothes, curling in on herself.

"Let her have Edward," Rosalie continued. "He makes her feel better."

At the sound of Edward's name, the girl's head perked up hopefully.

"Did you see that?" Alice clapped her hands. "She knows his name! Edward, come here!"

He did, rushing through the door, the worry on his face melting away when he saw the girl apparently unharmed. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Alice said swiftly. "But she knows your name!"

He looked intrigued. "That would be a sign of definite progress. It would prove that she _is_ listening, even though she doesn't understand everything."

"Edward," Alice said, watching Wisp attentively.

But the girl was already looking at Edward, so there was no real point. He stepped over to her and knelt on the bathmat. "Did you like your bath?" he asked, smiling as she reached out for him. Her sigh was relieved when he picked her up, and some of the tension in her body relaxed.

"Your hair is beautiful," he told her. "Who knew Alice could create something so nice out of that knotted mess?"

"And she doesn't smell like a guy anymore, either," Alice added.

"There's nothing wrong with Irish Spring," Edward protested. He was secretly relieved to have his little Wisp back in his arms. He knew the girls wouldn't hurt her, but he felt better when he could see her face and know what she was feeling. She nestled in his arms, warm and sweetly scented from Alice's ministrations, her hair like silk against his cheek. It really was amazing what they'd been able to do with that hair. From a hopeless, filthy tangle that he was more or less planning to just chop off, Alice had managed to get a full head of rich brown hair with some loose, natural curl to it. She'd been lovely before, but with her hair smooth and shining she was beautiful.

"You look tired," he said, walking with her back into the living room. Shadows were beginning to creep along the floor. She'd been awake for four or five hours, and it was definitely taking its toll.

"We should take off," Jasper said, checking his watch.

"Yeah," Emmett added reluctantly. "I was hoping to hear from the boys who went to talk to Mike, but it's getting late."

"Stay." Edward frowned. "At least until whoever DHS is sending gets here. They'll want to hear from Emmett, and you're a doctor, Jasper. You can give your professional opinion."

"It's a reasonable thought," Carlisle said.

"And I still haven't had a chance to get at her nails," Alice piped up.

"Not while she's asleep, Alice."

Edward looked at the girl in his arms in surprise. Jasper was right—she'd fallen asleep against his chest. He chuckled softly and set her carefully on the couch, covering her with the throw blanket. She snuggled into the soft cushions, but did not wake.

"Looks like we won't have long to wait," Rosalie observed. "That's obviously a government car that just pulled into your driveway, Edward."


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: I'm honored to say that _**The Lemonade Stand**_ (tehlemonadestand dot net) has featured Wisp in its "Fic of the Week" poll. Today's the last day to vote, so I'm supposed to tell you to go and vote for your favorites on the list. :-)_

_Aaaand one more note. Okay. In this story, as I said, we won't have flashbacks to Bella/Wisp's past. BUT for those of you who want to know now rather than later, I'm writing it. HOWEVER, I'm not posting it here. It's available at The Writer's Coffee Shop; my name there is judo_lin. I was emailing the document to people, but not anymore. It's easier just to send everyone over there. :)  
_

* * *

**Wisp**

DHS went all out. They sent a psychologist from Child Protective Services and a caseworker from Adult Protective Services, since no one could say for certain how old the girl was. The psychologist was an older woman, blond and sharp, with the drawn face of someone who had smoked for years. She introduced herself as Dr. Marcia Lawton, and she did not look particularly pleased to see the crowd of people already in the home.

Edward liked the caseworker better. He was young-ish, not too long out of school, and he handed everyone a business card so they could keep in touch. "Scott Williams," he said, reaching for Carlisle's hand, then Emmett's. "Is this our new case?"

Edward's heart beat unsteadily and out of rhythm as he saw Dr. Lawton assess the sleeping girl. She had a pad of paper in a leather cover, which Edward had always hated. Maybe it was prejudicial thinking, but he'd always found people who carried those leather covers to be full of themselves.

"Where's the doctor?" she asked abruptly, turning away from the sleeping girl.

Both Carlisle and Jasper stepped forward. Edward stood his ground, but it was difficult. He wanted to push between Dr. Lawton and the girl on the couch, keeping the psychologist at bay. There was absolutely no reason for it—she was here to help, after all—but he couldn't help the odd, proprietary instinct that swelled in his chest.

"Who found her?" the social worker asked, settling to the floor where he could see the girl's sleeping face better. "We got a sketchy outline of the story, but maybe you could tell me in your own words?"

Edward also sat on the floor. He put his near hand on the couch cushion next to Wisp's blanket-covered knee, not touching. She must have been deeply asleep—she didn't stir a muscle. Poor thing needed it, he thought, glad that she didn't have to face two new strangers quite yet. He began to talk, telling Scott everything he remembered about meeting James, the poker game, and Emmett's decision to buy the truck for gambling money. He told about driving it home, and how he'd opened the camper shell purely on a whim, to see what might be back there. Emmett and Rose joined them near Wisp as Dr. Lawton continued firing technical questions at Carlisle and Jasper about the girl's physical and mental state.

"Do you think he knew?" Scott asked. "Maybe it's a question more appropriate for the police to ask, but do you think he knew she was in there when he agreed to sell the truck?"

"You mean, do you think he was_ trying_ to get rid of her?" Emmett scratched his head. "Shit, I don't know, man. I mean, he'd have to know we'd come after him. Doesn't seem like the best way to get rid of evidence, if you ask me."

"I don't think he knew," Edward said, thinking back to the night before. His memories were a little fuzzy from lack of sleep, but at least he'd been sober. He couldn't say the same for every poker night. "When he showed up at my door today, he looked...not panicked, exactly, but definitely nervous. He wanted to get her before anyone figured out he had her."

Scott wasn't writing anything down, but that didn't bother Edward. He wasn't much of a note-taker himself, preferring to listen and watch. "What do you know about him?"

"James?" Edward shook his head. "Not much. He's a cousin of one of our poker buddies. We didn't even know he was coming until they showed up together."

"He didn't exactly fit in with our group," Emmett added, "you know? We play friendly-like, and he kept trying to up the ante, be more competitive and cutthroat. We just like to relax and have fun, just the boys."

"So you'd say you don't really know him?" Scott pressed.

"Nah." Emmett shook his head regretfully. "I got a couple of detectives out at Mike's place trying to get information." He barked out a short, mirthless laugh. "I can't decide whether I was a hero or just fucking stupid, buying that piece of shit truck. Rosie here likes vintage cars, so I thought it would be a nice present. But when I think that she might have been the one to find the girl, or that we might not have opened the back until it was too late..."

"It's a good thing I was nosy, then," Edward said, moving his fingers to brush Wisp's knee through the blanket. Emmett didn't need to feel guilty. It wasn't a good present—that thing was too far gone even for Rosalie to restore—but he might well have saved a girl's life by buying it.

"So you opened the back to see what was in there," Scott urged. "What then?"

"It stank," Edward said flatly. "I thought something might have crawled in there and died. And then when I saw her, I thought she was dead. I called Carlisle in a panic—he lives in the big house you passed on the drive here—and told him there was a dead girl in the truck I'd driven home."

"But she wasn't dead."

"No, but I wouldn't be surprised if she was close. You'll have to ask Carlisle for the specifics—I have a doctorate, but I'm no doctor. She was freezing cold, and so small..." Images of how he'd found her rose up before his eyes. Pale as death, cold and unmoving...he'd really thought she was dead. "Carlisle told me to get her inside and warm her up instead of calling for an ambulance. She woke up and I put her in a bath, and—"

"You stripped her?" Dr. Lawton said suddenly, breaking off her discussion with Carlisle and turning to stare accusingly at Edward.

"No," he said, trying to keep hold of his irritation. She was used to working with abused children, he told himself. She needed to ask these questions. "She was naked when I found her."

The psychologist narrowed her eyes, but she didn't interrupt again as Edward continued his story. He told about the girl's confusion, her apparent incomprehension, her skittishness and fear. Carlisle corroborated that she had panicked when she first saw him, but her response to hearing the name _James_ was much, much worse. Edward added that she had no body hair except on her forearms, and he explained that she didn't seem at all anxious or embarrassed about being naked. She had hugged his clothes when he put them on her, though, and that image was burned into his mind—so grateful over such a little thing. Her reactions continually amazed him.

The discussion became more technical again as Carlisle explained about his limited assessment of the girl, Emmett adding that he had video they could watch if they wanted to. Edward then said that he'd put her to bed in the spare room, and described how he'd found her hours later, sleeping in the closet. Wisp shifted in her sleep, her knee pressing more firmly against Edward's fingers, and nuzzled into her curled arm. Edward couldn't hide his smile—she really was a fetching little thing. He told about their toothbrush adventures, even stuttering through her assumptions about what he wanted from her. The girls added their interpretation of meeting her, and everyone seemed to agree with Rosalie's opinion that Wisp had never seen—or didn't remember—another woman before.

"Now," Carlisle said finally, "the obvious question is, where should she stay? With whom? We are more than happy to keep her here while law enforcement tries to figure out if she has any family looking for her. In fact, in my professional opinion, that would probably be best. She is anxious and very afraid, and she doesn't understand more than a handful of words so you can't exactly reason with her."

Edward could have kissed Carlisle in that moment.

"I agree," Jasper said. "With two doctors and a police officer watching over her, she'd be well taken care of."

Scott glanced at Dr. Lawton, who pursed her lips. She folded her arms, standing tall and almost looming over the group sitting on the floor. "Under other circumstances," she started, "I might agree. But you have to understand that this is highly irregular."

"The whole situation is highly irregular," Carlisle said. "How many times have _you_ found a naked girl near death in a vehicle?"

If psychologists gave the stink-eye, Carlisle was definitely getting it. "I'm most concerned about Jane Doe's interaction with the younger Mr. Cullen."

Edward flinched inwardly. What had he done wrong? He'd tried to give her food, shelter, warmth, and comfort—everything he possibly could. Was there something wrong with that? He also didn't like hearing her called Jane Doe. Though she'd only been with him a day, she had a clear personality all her own. Jane Doe was a blank slate, a person literally unknown. To him, Wisp was anything but.

"He's admitted to highly improper contact with someone who might well be a minor," Dr. Lawton went on. "I'm not inclined to permit it to continue. She clearly isn't capable of legal consent."

"You've got to be kidding!" Emmett boomed. "Because he gave her a _bath_? Because he dressed her when she didn't have any clothes?"

"Or because she tried to repay him maybe the only way she knows how?" Rosalie added. "You have no idea how fucked up her life has been—none of us do. Sex could be the only commodity she has that she knows men want."

"Is there video of the event?" Dr. Lawton demanded.

"In the bathroom?" Edward tried not to look at her like she was crazy, but it was hard. Anger washed through him—anger that anyone could accuse him of taking advantage of the girl he'd saved. Yes, he'd touched her. _Someone_ had to. But it hadn't been like _that_. Not at all. He wasn't at all interested in molesting someone who couldn't fight back. "Of course not."

"You were here alone with her?"

"Yes," he said tightly. "I _live_ here."

"And you are..." She flipped through her notes. "...an author?"

"A sociologist." Carlisle spoke for Edward, his voice quiet but clearly strained. "He graduated magna cum laude from Dartmouth. I assure you, Edward would never dream of doing what you're implying."

"The assertions of family members are not reliable evidence," she retorted. "Your assessment of the younger Mr. Cullen is biased."

"The younger _Doctor_ Cullen," Carlisle said firmly. "He has a Ph.D. He's earned the title."

"A doctorate does not immediately bestow innocence. Plenty of university professors have been arrested for possession of child pornography or soliciting sexual favors from students."

Edward glanced at Scott, hoping he'd stand up to the psychologist, but Scott was watching her worriedly. Classic, Edward thought. Just classic. The rookie fresh out of school was too afraid to go against a seasoned professional, no matter what he thought.

"She likes Edward," Alice said fiercely, glaring daggers at Dr. Lawton. "She _trusts_ him. When she's scared, she reaches for him. You can't take that away from her! What will she do without him?"

"She'll find another security blanket," the psychologist said with a shrug. "She's been here less than twenty-four hours. It isn't possible for a strong bond to have formed in that time."

Edward begged to disagree. It was impossible to know how strong or deep the bond went on Wisp's side, but she had already found her way into his heart. He wanted to protect her, help her, see her smile. He wanted to be there when and if she started talking—walking. To meet her family, if they could be located, and tell them what a strong young woman she was. Hell, he'd love to know her real name.

"My diagnosis at this point is severe mental retardation," the psychologist said, writing on her notepad. "Possible brain damage. Likely Disinhibited Attachment Disorder as well, as evidenced by a willingness to socialize indiscriminately and inappropriately with relative strangers."

"You can't diagnose her!" Jasper protested. "I realize she doesn't talk, but you haven't observed her! Not even Emmett's video."

"My diagnosis will only stand until the doctors at West Highland can make a full assessment."

"West Highland?" Jasper snapped. "The psychiatric hospital? Isn't that a little extreme? She's not a danger to anyone, even herself. Look at her—she couldn't hurt a fly. She can't even _walk_."

"That particular problem may be psychosomatic," the psychologist said with a shrug. "She's a difficult case. She needs to be monitored."

"West Highland is full of dangerous schizophrenics and other people who are involuntarily committed," Jasper argued. "Put her at Harborview or another medical hospital for a little while to monitor her physical health if you must, but she doesn't belong with the crazies."

"I find that term offensive."

"_I_ find it offensive that you think she belongs in a place that's more jail than hospital!"

"Jasper," Carlisle said gently, taking the younger doctor by the shoulder, "yelling won't help. Look—you're waking her."

Edward heard his father's words, but his eyes were on Wisp. She shifted on the couch, her eyes fluttering. He reached out and traced his hand lightly across her cheek, wondering if this would be the last time he ever touched her. He ached for her—Jasper was right. She didn't belong in a psychiatric hospital. She wasn't dangerous. She just needed some stability, medical care, and time.

Her eyes opened, blinking sleepily, and settled on his face.

And, to Edward's utter shock, she _smiled_. The expression ripped him in two.

"Hi," he said quietly, trying to smile back. "How do you feel?"

Only then did she realize she was lying on the couch, and she swiftly scrambled off of it. With a small whimper, she tumbled into Edward's lap.

"Easy, little Wisp," he said, settling her in his arms and brushing her soft hair away from her face. "You're fine. It's okay. I wouldn't put you on the couch if I was going to get mad at you for it."

Her eyes lifted, searching Edward's beseechingly. Once again, he wished he knew what to offer her.

"See?" Alice hissed. "She needs him!"

"She needs a structured environment where she can be monitored by psychiatric professionals," Dr. Lawton said firmly.

Wisp's head whipped around at the unfamiliar voice, and her fist grasped Edward's sleeve. She ducked her head into his shoulder, not taking her eyes off the newcomers.

"Hi," Scott said, waving slightly from his spot on the floor. "I'm Scott. Did you have a nice sleep?"

She sucked her lip into her mouth, chewing nervously. Her brown eyes were big, an anxious frown settling on her smooth forehead. Edward felt her fist tighten on his arm.

"Scott is nice," he said slowly, deliberately not including Dr. Lawton. "He wants to help you."

"I do," Scott agreed. "I want to help you feel better."

"There's no point in talking to her like that if she can't understand you," the psychologist snapped. "I think we're just about done here."

"Which means...?" Carlisle folded his arms.

"That we'll be going, and taking her to West Highland. Don't worry about your clothes, Mr. Cullen. We'll have them mailed back to you."

"I don't care about the clothes," Edward said tightly. He looked at Scott once more, but it was clear that the young man wasn't going to challenge his superior. In a way, he understood. But this wasn't like an assistant questioning a financial investment—this was a girl's _life_ they were talking about. Wisp sat in his arms, a small, warm ball of girl. She was so vulnerable. So fragile. Who knew what she would think of a place like that, where the staff was used to dealing with violent, dangerous patients?

"Maybe it really is for the best," Scott said, sounding more hopeful than anything else. "Her captor has to know she's here. People get out of jail on technicalities all the time and, if he does, this will be the first place he comes."

"If you'll be so kind, Mr. Cullen," Dr. Lawton said, motioning toward the door.

Edward froze. Did she really expect him to walk the girl out the door? Physically _place_ her in the car that would take her away? He tightened his arms slightly around her warm body, not at all sure he was capable of doing that.

"Think of Wisp, Edward," Carlisle said softly. "Keep her calm as long as you can. Be what she needs." He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a bite-sized piece of banana, then deftly hid a little white pill that Edward suspected was Ativan inside the fruit. Wisp would not accept the morsel from Carlisle's hand, but she swallowed it quickly when Edward offered.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against her hair. "I'm sorry, little one."

* * *

_A/N: Please don't hate me! I promise, it will get fixed. Otherwise, how would we have more of the story? I wrote a caring social worker in ACAP, and I can't just do the same thing all the time._

_If you're at all interested in reading about a real-life case of a child raised without language, check out the article "Genie (feral child)" on Wikipedia._


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who has been reccing my little plot bunny! Y'all make me blush!  
_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

"I'm sorry, Edward." Carlisle sounded genuinely regretful, but Edward was pretty sure his uncle didn't feel the way he did. Like he'd let down someone who had been failed far too many times. Like every word of reassurance he'd spoken to her had been a lie. How on earth would she react to the confines of the psychiatric hospital? To the noise of the other patients, their unpredictable behavior?

His final glimpse of her was absolutely unbearable. He'd carried her to the dark government sedan after Carlisle's gentle prompting—the single pill kept her calm but did not knock her out. She hadn't balked, hadn't expressed a mote of fear or resistance...until he shut the door, her on one side, him on the other. Then her eyes had widened, her hand coming up as if to try to open the door again. But there hadn't been time, and she'd quickly been driven away.

"The doctors will care for her," Carlisle tried to say. "They'll know how to help her."

"They'll scare her," Edward said flatly. "She _trusted_ me, Carlisle."

The elder doctor inhaled deeply, then breathed out a slow breath. "I'm a surgeon, you understand," he said. "Not a psychiatrist. But if I call, it's possible someone there might grant me the professional courtesy of letting me visit, or at least tell me how she's doing."

"Do it, Carlisle!" Alice said. "Or else we're going to plot a dramatic rescue!"

"I know you're concerned about her," Carlisle said. "I am, too. But we have no proof that this is the wrong decision, even if we don't like it. This could be the best place for her."

"She belongs with someone she trusts," Alice insisted. "She trusts Edward. You saw how she latched onto him!"

"All I can do is try," Carlisle said simply. "I can't make any promises."

"I can keep you in the loop on the case, too," Emmett added. "Maybe we'll get lucky and Mike will know something that leads us to her family."

Edward nodded dully. He knew that his family and friends were well meaning, but he didn't want the pale surrogate of secondhand news. He wanted to see those soft brown eyes, to know that the expression hovering on her lips was peaceful, unafraid. Maybe it was stupid—ridiculous or silly. Maybe he should never have let himself get so attached in the first place. But he couldn't help it. She'd touched something inside him, and he would never be the same.

* * *

Eventually, everyone left. They were all subdued, Esme's brow puckered with worry, Rosalie showing that perfect blankness that hid her true feelings. Edward felt a little numb, honestly. Like the moment of silence after a party, when the world had gone back to normal but you weren't yet back with it.

"It's okay," he said slowly to himself. "She'll be better off with experts who can care for her."

But he couldn't make himself believe it.

He went into the kitchen to clean up, throwing away the last bitter dregs of coffee and discarding the half-eaten chicken breast. He supposed he could have eaten it, but he didn't want to. Better to make a clean break—get rid of everything. Then his life could go back to normal as soon as possible.

He spent an hour scrubbing the bathroom until it gleamed, all traces of dirt and grime washed away. Laundry was next, and he bleached the soiled washcloths and towels just as Esme had shown him when he was young. He washed the sheets from the guest bed even though she hadn't stayed in them very long, and he returned the comforted to the bed where it belonged. Funny, he thought. Though the girl made little noise, the cabin seemed a lot quieter without her in it.

Edward didn't sleep that night, despite his exhaustion. Something inside him just didn't feel right—twisted up in a tight knot that refused to untie. Was she scared? Cold? Hungry? Had she found someone new in which to place her trust, as Dr. Lawton suggested she would? Maybe the doctor was right; maybe the girl really did need to be watched over by experts. Hospitals like West Highland existed to fill a need, after all. They were there to help patients, just like Carlisle and Jasper helped patients.

* * *

The next morning, he called Emmett early to pester him for information about Mike's interview yesterday. Emmett told him to come down to the station so he could listen to the debriefing himself, and Edward gladly welcomed the distraction.

The two men who had questioned Mike, Garrett and Peter, were older officers, well trained and confident in their jobs. Garrett had a giant mug of coffee in front of him when Emmett brought Edward into the conference room, and Peter was leaning back in his swivel chair, a notepad and audio recorder in front of him.

"The Chief said that a last minute meeting came up, so we could start without him," Emmett said. "This is Edward Cullen, the man who found the girl."

Garrett reached out to shake his hand, while Peter contented himself with a nod.

"How are you holding up?" Emmett asked, slapping Edward's tense shoulder in sympathy.

Edward shrugged. Really, he had absolutely no reason to feel as bad as he did. He'd helped a stranger, and now she was being helped by other people, people who could better meet her needs.

So why did he feel so lousy?

"I just want to know that she's okay," he said with a shrug. It was a reasonable response.

"I'm sure Carlisle will call like he said he would," Emmett said, trying to be comforting. Edward appreciated the thought, but it wasn't really helping at the moment.

"So," Emmett said, clapping his hands twice, "what do you have for us?"

Peter leaned forward and grabbed his notebook. "Do you want the cliffs notes version? Or all of it?"

"All of it," Edward said quickly, even though he knew he had absolutely no authority here and it was only Emmett's influence that let him in the room to begin with.

But nobody reprimanded him, and Garrett lifted his mug of coffee as Peter began to talk.

"We got to Michael Newton's house at 3:43 pm. He was home and let us in, though he was understandably nervous at the unexpected visit."

"Kind of a nervous guy in general," Garrett added with a little chuckle.

Yes, Edward agreed. Mike was kind of a nervous dude. But he was a poker buddy, not a close friend, so it hardly mattered.

"We first asked him if he knew the current whereabouts of James Newton," Peter continued. "By then James had already been arrested, but I wanted to hear Mr. Newton's answer. He told us that he had taken James into town, dropped him off at a diner where he was planning to call a cab, and that was the last he'd seen of him. That had been around four o'clock in the morning, Mr. Newton figured."

"We asked if we could search the premises," Garrett added, "and he told us he didn't see why not. We found some dirty clothing that Mr. Newton confirmed was James', but nothing else."

"He told us that James had been crashing with him for a little over a week," Peter said. "Said that he'd been glad to see him go when James said he wanted a taxi and he was getting out of town."

"They didn't seem to be close," Garrett agreed. "But family, you know? That's what Mike said. 'He's family.'"

Edward supposed he could understand the sentiment, though he himself loved his family dearly and would always want to help them out of love, not obligation. He'd always felt like Mike was a bland, decent guy. Maybe James was the black sheep of the family?

"We asked if he could tell us a little bit about his cousin in general—what kind of a person he was, his background, that kind of stuff. He said that James came from a broken home. His mother tried hard but had difficulty making ends meet. His father used James as a pawn, eventually luring the boy to live with him solely to hurt the mother. He had no interest in actually being a father, and James was more or less left to his own devices as a teenager."

Edward listened without a pang of remorse for the man. Plenty of children grew up in divorced situations, without much money, and they didn't all turn out to kidnap girls and keep them in the backs of trucks. But he was too close to the situation, having seen firsthand what James had done to that innocent girl. He couldn't look at it objectively, and he knew that. Maybe James had good reasons for being screwed up, but Edward wasn't ready to listen.

"Mr. Newton said there was a big gap—James didn't finish high school, rarely saw the family, and was in and out of juvie. He did his first stint in adult prison on a drug charge, his second for assault. He couldn't give us much information about James during that time. There was some talk that maybe he was hanging out with a white supremacist group over in the eastern part of the state, but nobody in the family ever got a definitive answer."

"Said he was genuinely surprised when James appeared on his doorstep," Garrett said, "and I believe him. James asked if he could crash for a while, and he'd been there a little over a week when he talked Mr. Newton into letting him attend a friendly poker game with him. I assume you know the rest of the story."

"Yeah, we do, thanks," Emmett said with a grimace. "It's not much information to go on. We've got a gap of James' time we can't account for, between when Mike dropped him off to wait for a taxi, and when he showed up at Edward's place in a white car."

"Where he got the car is an obvious question." Peter nodded, jotting more notes down in his book. "Whether it's stolen, borrowed, or legitimately his. Is it still in your driveway, Em?"

"Nah," Emmett said with a shake of his head. "Impound. I'm sure the plates have been run by now; the information should be around here somewhere."

"So he was dropped off by his cousin around four in the morning, presumably to wait for a taxi," Garrett mused. "Somehow, between that time and early afternoon, he acquires a car and...what? Remembers that, oh yeah, he had a girl locked up in the back of the truck he just sold?"

"Mr. Newton said James had been drinking heavily, quite possibly using other substances as well. He'd done his best to dry him out, but there's no telling what shape his memory—his mind in general—was in by the time he wandered into that poker game." Peter leaned back in his chair again. "Fucking animal. I know booze is no excuse, but I wish I were more surprised than I am."

Edward wholeheartedly agreed. James' level of inebriation didn't negate the severity of the harm he'd done to that poor girl. She'd been so sick, so dehydrated and malnourished. She was like a little leaf that could be blown away by his breath. There was no excuse, absolutely no excuse, for that. If James tried to argue that he wasn't in his right mind, Edward didn't know what he'd do. He'd never considered killing a human being before, but the thought was beginning to sound better and better.

"Did you tell Mike why you were questioning him—what we found?" Emmett asked.

"Yeah," Garrett said. "Warned him not to breathe a word to the media, too. That's the last thing we need—reporters breathing down our necks while we try to get to the bottom of this. Mr. Newton looked a little green when we told him that there had been a captive girl sitting in a truck outside his house for a week, and he was more than happy to give us what little information he could."

"Such as?"

"Said he never saw James go to the truck except for once when he left to pick up some groceries. As far as he knows, the girl was left alone for as long as James was at his house."

"I don't know whether to be relieved at that or horrified," Edward muttered. What was worse—attention from James, or being left to rot like garbage, unwanted and forgotten?

"Amen," Peter agreed. "The hospital faxed us over a copy of Dr. Cullen's initial assessment. I'm not a medical professional and even I know that it's not pretty."

"What are you doing to try to figure out who she is?" Edward asked. He knew it wasn't his place to press, but he needed to know. He needed to be able to tell himself that she had a name, and a family, and a place where she belonged. Where she could return, and be happy.

"West Highland is sending us prints," Garrett answered. "It's unlikely that she'll pop up in AFIS, but some hospitals keep prints on babies born there. We'll call around, see if we can get a lead. We can't exactly issue an Amber Alert, because what we have here is kind of a backward case. We don't have a missing person, we have a...found one. And we don't even know if she's a minor or an adult."

"Such an arbitrary distinction," Edward murmured. He remembered Rose's words from the day before. This was definitely a case where age was nothing but a number. There was no telling in what developmental stage her mind might be. Was she in fact, as Rosalie had said, a baby in this world? What did she know, and what didn't she? Would she ever be able to communicate effectively with people? These weren't his problems to bear, but he couldn't help worrying all the same. "What else can you do? Can I help at all?"

The police officers shrugged. "We start with fingerprints, and lean on James some more. If that doesn't work, we'll have to get the media involved—get the word out that a girl has been found. _Someone_ has to be missing her."

"Can't I search through missing persons databases or something?" Edward asked, knowing he was grasping at straws. There was no reason for them to want his help. "I'm on sabbatical; I've got nothing but time."

"We'll see," Emmett said, with a sympathetic look that told Edward he really would see what they could do. "She's a sweet, pretty girl. Someone has to be looking for her."

* * *

Two days later, James still wasn't talking. The girl's fingerprints had turned up no matches on AFIS, and cops from Forks and neighboring police forces were fanning out across the state to request records from local hospitals. There was no proof that she was local, or even American, but Emmett insisted that this was the logical next step.

Edward quit hounding his friend for a while and instead decided to hound his uncle.

Carlisle was not inclined, at first, to discuss whatever he had learned from his contact at West Highland. Only Edward's dogged determination got them to this point: seated in Carlisle's study at the big house, late in the evening.

"Son," Carlisle said slowly, looking older than his years, care weighting him down, "I've withheld the information from you because I don't want you or any of your more hotheaded friends to go do something rash."

"Hotheaded?" Edward raised an eyebrow. "Rash? Carlisle, we're all out of college now."

"Yes," Carlisle agreed, "but you have to admit that some of you, no matter how much we love you, can be slightly...improvident...in certain situations."

"Fine," Edward said, "I won't tell Alice."

"She's not the one I'm worried about." Carlisle's gaze was long and steady.

Edward's hope sank. "So it's that bad, then?" The fantasy he'd been trying to force-feed himself—that she was content in her new place—shattered around him.

"It's...not ideal," Carlisle allowed. "She's being kept sedated at the moment. Every time they try to bring her around, she just panics and works herself up into a fit. She hasn't even attempted to hurt anyone else, but she scratched herself up pretty badly with her nails during a panic attack and she bit through her lower lip. Not enough to need stitches, thank god, but enough to worry the staff."

Edward felt like he was falling. Really, he should have expected this. Not the physical self-harm, which he didn't for a moment believe was intentional, but the panic, the fear, the devastation she must be feeling after she'd trusted Edward and he'd abandoned her. Guilt hung heavy in his stomach, making him feel sick.

"Of course they want her to eat, but right now a gastric tube has been placed to give her nutrition."

"She doesn't need a feeding tube!" Edward exploded. "She doesn't need sedation, either! She needs an environment where she feels comfortable. How comfortable would you feel if someone put you to sleep and then stuck an uncomfortable tube down your throat?"

Carlisle rubbed his temples. "You see, this is why I didn't want to tell you. I'm worried about her, too—don't you think we all are? But you can't let yourself get so emotionally attached, son. She's not a member of the family. We don't have any legal right to intervene."

"What about a medical right?" Edward insisted. "If you said they weren't treating her right, or something? Couldn't you go over that idiot shrink's head?"

"Dr. Lawton doesn't have jurisdiction now that she's been committed," Carlisle replied. "That's strictly up to the doctors at West Highland and the girl's caseworker."

"Who turned out to be good for absolutely nothing," Edward muttered.

"Edward, I'm sorry. There's nothing more I can say. She was doing herself harm, so the doctors made a decision to sedate her. It's not a controversial action. Obviously she can't eat while under sedation, so they inserted a feeding tube. It may seem like overkill to you, but they're really trying to help her."

"I want to see her."

There was a pause before Carlisle answered. "Edward, you know that's not possible."

But Edward didn't care at the moment what was possible and what wasn't. He had been the one to find her. He'd coaxed her into trusting him, and then in an instant he'd crushed that fragile bond. He was responsible for her. Maybe not logically, but not everything in life responded to logic. This was something that defied mathematical formulas, something that he felt deeply but could not readily explain.

And no matter what Carlisle or Emmett said, he was going to make it right. He had to.

* * *

_A/N: Next chapter, duckies. I promise!_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: I'd wanted to add another scene at the end of this chapter, but some of you were so concerned about Wisp that I just couldn't make you wait any longer. _

_I also apparently confused some people with a previous A/N. Here's the deal: **this site** IS cracking down on explicit material, and they ARE deleting stories. **The Writer's Coffee Shop** is not, despite a rumor to the contrary. I'm not too worried because I tend to fly under the radar. BUT, if something does go missing here, look for me at TWCS under the name judo_lin. (I've been Cris on this site for over 10 years, but it wasn't available when I signed up over there.) _

_Remember: Wisp's past is available on TWCS for those who choose to read it. You WILL have to create a free account to view it, since their NC-17 material is age-restricted. And believe me, it's definitely worth the rating. We WILL learn about her past in the main story eventually, and that's how I recommend reading (i.e., not looking at the outtake), but it's up to you.  
_

* * *

**Wisp**

Maybe it wasn't entirely ethical. Maybe there were other ways he could have gone about this. But after stewing for almost two weeks, Edward was feeling decidedly Machiavellian about Wisp and her continued confinement. If the end result was getting her out of that hospital, then it definitely justified the means. Carlisle had stopped giving him updates, stating that the news would do nothing but depress him, but Edward wasn't prepared to just forget the girl who had spilled out of a truck and into his life so suddenly.

Which was why he currently sat in his car outside a nondescript building in north Seattle, Scott Williams' business card in his hand. The rookie social worker had been absolutely no help during their first meeting, but he had at least seemed concerned for the girl. Dr. Lawton, on the other hand, acted like she was a hassle to be swept under the rug, nothing more.

And Edward couldn't stand it any longer. He couldn't sleep, knowing she was scared and hurting, sedated by her doctors because they didn't have the time to address her severe emotional needs. He understood that they were all overworked and underpaid, but they had chosen this profession. That didn't mean they could ignore someone so obviously in need of help.

He got out of his Volvo, looking at the battered tan building. There was no sign out front, but in the lobby he found a black board with removable white letters spelling out the names of office residents and their floors. Scott Williams was not expecting him, but he was damn well going to make time to hear Edward out.

The hum of busy offices surrounded Edward as he climbed two sets of stairs and paused outside a glass door with "Scott Williams, MSW" written on the outside. Without knocking, he pushed it open.

The social worker was alone, thankfully. He sat at an oversized desk in the tiny, cramped office, every surface overflowing with papers. A pair of glasses perched haphazardly on his head, looking like they might fall off at any moment.

"Mr. Williams," Edward said. He waved the man's business card in his distracted face. "I'm Edward Cullen."

The man blinked, frowned, and blinked again. Then something seemed to click in his mind, and he smiled. "Dr. Cullen," he said warmly. "Yes, of course, I remember you. Please, ignore the mess and find a seat."

"I guess the state sees if you can swim by throwing you in the deep end," Edward commented, glancing at the riot of paper everywhere.

"Yes, well, it's partially that and partially my own fault," Scott said with a shrug. "I haven't figured out a filing system that works for me yet. Plenty of people have given me wonderful tips, but it just doesn't seem to help." He scratched at his head, and his glasses fell into his lap. He squinted at them distractedly before setting them aside. "I've been in contact with the Forks police department almost every day this week. I wish I could give you more encouraging news, but they're having some trouble figuring out Jane Doe's identity. James Newton will be formally charged with kidnapping, assault, and some other charges later this week, but he's still not talking."

"I know," Edward said. "Lieutenant McCarty keeps me in the loop."

"That's good. I'm glad she has people who are concerned for her."

Edward paused to assess the man before him. He was young and earnest, but he seemed sincere. Realistically, he probably couldn't have changed Dr. Lawton's mind even if he had spoken up. But Carlisle said Dr. Lawton wasn't in charge of Wisp's case anymore, and Edward hoped the social worker would yield to a little pressure.

"I wanted to talk to you about her placement," he said bluntly. Beating around the bush was pointless in this case. It wouldn't get them anywhere, and Edward was done waiting.

Scott's face turned wary. "Now, Dr. Cullen, I understand your concern, but we discussed this before."

"Have you heard what they're doing to her up in that hospital?" Edward demanded. "Because Carlisle told me, and it's not pretty."

Scott rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I'd heard she was sedated after causing herself harm," he admitted. "But they assured me that's standard operating procedure, and—"

"You're not doing your job," Edward accused. "You're taking other people's word instead of seeing for yourself. You're too new at this to be phoning it in already."

Scott winced; it was obvious that Edward's barb had hit home. Well, he'd intended it to. The man needed to learn, and learn quickly, that social work wasn't about signing papers and showing up in family court. It was about making hard decisions, even if those decisions meant more work for everyone involved. It was about caring for clients above all else—people who otherwise would have no one advocating for them.

"You have to understand that a private home just isn't the right place for her," Scott said carefully. "She needs a great deal of care. I realize that you found her and therefore feel a certain amount of responsibility but, realistically, she's a stranger to you as much as she is to me."

"I don't care," Edward said solidly. "I don't care how long I've known her. She stopped being a stranger the moment Carlisle pulled her from that truck and put her in my arms."

It was true, too. He could recall that instant with startling clarity. She'd been cold and pale, a literal dead weight in his arms, and yet...and yet something had shifted inside him when he first looked at her broken body, her delicate face. She needed him. She needed him more than anyone else ever had, and Edward wasn't going to ignore that.

"I know it was a difficult situation, and no doubt very emotional..." Scott tried to say, but Edward cut him off again.

"Yes," he snapped. "It was difficult, it was emotional, it was so many things that you can't imagine unless you open up a vehicle you've just been driving and find someone locked inside it. But that doesn't mean I'm being irrational. It doesn't mean I should try to forget it ever happened." He tented his hands and dropped his forehead to them. He was tired, very tired, but his body wouldn't let him rest until he had fixed this somehow. "She's hurting. She's hurting, and that's unacceptable to me. It ought to be unacceptable to you, too."

"One of the first things we learn in social work school," Scott said softly, "is that sometimes clients are going to hurt, and there's nothing we can do about it."

"And the _very first_ thing you ought to have learned," Edward ground out, "is that you _keep trying anyway_."

Scott watched him with a kind of wary respect. Edward only hoped it was enough to get him what he wanted. He had counted on Scott Williams being easy to intimidate, but that didn't necessarily mean he would capitulate. Unlike Dr. Lawton, Edward had no real authority on this case or with the state, and they both knew that.

Finally Scott leaned back slightly in his chair. "What exactly do you want?" His voice was calm and level. He sounded genuinely curious. Edward liked that.

"Take me to West Highland," he said. "Have them wake her up. You saw what she was like at the cabin. Now I want you to see for yourself what she's like at the hospital. I want you to see with your own eyes the difference, and what your choice has done."

The man rubbed his forehead slowly. "Where do you fit into all this?"

Edward shrugged. "She might hate me now that she thinks I've abandoned her. If that's the case, then there's no point in even talking about bringing her home with me again. But I want to see her. I want the chance to try."

Scott frowned. "You're not even a registered foster home," he argued. "The state can't just hand over a human being to you because you say you want her."

"I don't _want her_," Edward stressed. "She's not a dog or a piece of furniture. I want to know that she's happy and content, and that's obviously not the case right now. If you can produce an alternate location, one where she feels comfortable and doesn't have to be fucking sedated just to keep her calm, then by all means, put her there."

But there was no such place, and both men knew it.

"She's so damaged, Dr. Cullen," Scott said, dropping his head into his hands. "I honestly don't know what to do."

"Take me to go see her," Edward said. "See with your own eyes. Then use your instinct—your compassion. You have to have some, or else you wouldn't have chosen this profession."

One side of the social worker's mouth turned up in a half smile. "You'd be a wonderful lawyer, Doctor. Have you ever considered a change in profession?"

Edward chuckled. "No, thanks. I prefer a job where lives don't hang in the balance."

Scott looked at him for a long moment. "You know that this is very unorthodox."

Edward felt the first faint stirrings of hope. "Like I said," he repeated, "I just want what's best for her. Give me this chance."

Scott sighed. "I shouldn't be doing this. I should _not_ be doing this. But I hate seeing people abandoned to the system when there's an alternative, however slim." He rubbed his eyes, then reached for his phone. "I'll tell them to wake her up. That should give us time to get there."

* * *

Carlisle was not going to be pleased. Edward had known that before he decided to leave Forks, but he didn't care. His uncle had expressly told him multiple times not to do anything rash and here he was, following Wisp's caseworker toward the grounds of West Highland. His heart hammered loudly in his chest. He was afraid of what he might find, and yet anxious to get there. Would she still be unconscious? Would she have perhaps gained or lost weight? Would she remember him and, if so, how would she react when she saw him again?

These were all questions that Edward couldn't answer, but he also couldn't dismiss them as they passed the security checkpoint and entered the grounds of West Highland. It was a lovely facility, he had to admit, but it was still a facility. The lovely manicured grounds didn't hide the building's obvious function.

The only person who Edward suspected had any idea what he was planning was, perhaps surprisingly, Rosalie. She'd asked him about his daily plans several times in the past two weeks, which wasn't at all like her. But she hadn't ratted him out, for which Edward was grateful. The last thing he needed was Carlisle or Emmett watching his every move. So maybe he _had_ done something rash by accosting Wisp's social worker like that. But he wasn't at all sorry, and he'd gladly do it over again if it meant he got this chance.

"Let me do the talking," Scott said as they exited their cars in the small visitor parking lot and headed for the main entrance. "With any luck, they won't question who you are."

Edward didn't care if they did. Scott was in charge of Wisp, not the doctors. He could do as he pleased. But he kept quiet as they checked in at the front desk and the receptionist told them that a doctor would be down to speak with them shortly.

Ten minutes later a harried man with fluffy white hair came bustling down a hallway, his hand already outstretched to shake Scott's.

"Mr. Williams," he said warmly, "so nice to finally meet in person. I have to admit, not many caseworkers take the time to make face-to-face visits here. They're not required, as they are with clients in foster or group homes."

"I know," Scott replied. "But this is a special case, and I wanted to see her for myself."

"She's not well, I'm afraid," the doctor said. "This is the fourth time we've tried bringing her around, and it doesn't seem to get any better. Poor thing." He glanced at Edward. "And you are...?"

"Dr. Cullen," Edward said easily, letting the doctor shake his hand. Let him think he was a shrink. Or Carlisle. Edward really didn't care. He wasn't actually lying, after all.

"Dr. Anderson," the white-haired doctor said without batting an eye at Edward's introduction. "This way, please."

They followed him up a flight of stairs and through several hallways, then through a door that he unlocked with a swipe of his badge. Edward felt a shiver run down his spine when he heard the snick of the locking mechanism. His little mystery girl didn't need to be locked in a secure ward. She stayed where she was put—she didn't even really need a _door_.

"Brace yourself," Dr. Anderson said softly. He led them into a tiny room with a two-way mirror. "This isn't a pretty sight."

Edward's heart fell into his shoes as he saw her for the first time in two weeks.

She was lying on a bed, but it definitely wasn't progress. He could see the restraints holding her in place—wrists, ankles, and waist. She struggled futilely, her motions jerky and uncoordinated from the drugs still swirling through her system, and though he couldn't hear her, her mouth was open in a definite scream. Her chest heaved, her head rolled, and she was obviously in the throes of a severe panic attack.

"This is what she does when we wake her up," Dr. Anderson said, a note of regret in his voice. "She doesn't respond to the staff at all—it's like we're not even here."

"She's terrified of furniture, you idiot," Edward hissed, not caring for the moment that he was insulting a doctor. "Let me in there—now!"

"Edward, I don't think—"

"Not now," Edward said, talking over Scott's hesitant words. "This is ridiculous, and I can't let it continue."

"Mr. Williams?" Dr. Anderson asked with a raised eyebrow.

Scott nodded weakly, and Dr. Anderson sighed. "I think you're making a mistake," he said, but he led them out of the observation room and unlocked the door to Wisp's.

The moment the door opened, the sound of her cry filled Edward's ears. It wasn't angry. It wasn't even hysterical. It was...heartbroken. A keening plea broken only by heaving breaths as she struggled to get enough oxygen into her panicking system. He darted into the room ahead of the others, immediately moving to undo her restraints.

"I wouldn't advise—" Dr. Anderson tried to protest, but Edward wasn't listening. He unbuckled her waist first, then her ankles. She threw her lower half off the skinny bed the moment she could, pulling awkwardly at her arms until he released her fully.

She sank to the cold, tiled floor in her thin scrubs, the ear-splitting wail ceasing immediately. A few shaky breaths rocked her small, huddled frame before she began to cry—a soft, pitiful, hopeless sound.

It tore Edward in two. While a part of him accepted that he'd had no real choice when Dr. Lawton took her away, another part of him felt deep guilt at allowing it. She was utterly broken, confused beyond belief. Had they even tried to explain to her what was going on? Had they attempted to reassure her at all? Or had they just followed "protocol," as Dr. Lawton followed protocol, not stopping to consider whether it was the right thing for this patient, this client, this situation?

She was a shaking, sobbing ball, the navy blue of her scrubs washing out her skin and making her look sick. She jerked away from Edward's mass when he shifted, her face still buried in her hands, the ragged sound of her thin breaths hurting his ears.

She wasn't looking at him, but Edward still felt a pang of worry. If she was terrified of him now—if she had lost that tenuous link of trust, then there was little to nothing he could do for her. She would be left here, lost, because there was no way he could prove to Scott that he could care for her if she didn't respond to him anymore.

"Watch her hands," Dr. Anderson cautioned. "She's scratched before."

Edward ignored him. How could anyone look at the trembling, tiny little form huddled on the floor and think she was a danger to anyone, including herself? The suggestion was ridiculous.

He reached forward hesitantly, brushing his hand across her shoulder.

She startled, jerking to the side, and a pitiful little cry left her lips. With a sob, she ducked her head down toward the floor, raising her backside slightly in the air, and used shaking hands to pull her scrub bottoms away from her skin, exposing her bruised ass.

Scott sucked in a quick breath as she held still, obviously waiting for punishment. She trembled, but her shoulders slumped and she did not attempt to shield herself from the expected assault.

Edward felt like he was going to be sick. It wasn't just her actions, but the broken way she performed them—as if she expected a beating as a matter of course. Was she assuming punishment because she'd been on the bed? For screaming? Another reason entirely?

He reached for her carefully, pulling her scrubs back into place, then rubbing his hand soothingly up her bony back. She shuddered under his touch, something she'd never done before.

"Hey," Edward said quietly. He refused to let himself give in to defeat—not yet. Not when he'd waited two weeks to see with his own eyes how badly she'd been damaged. "I'm not going to hurt you. Little Wisp, do you remember me?"

Her head shot up at the sound of his voice.

She looked terrible. Her huge eyes were bloodshot and had difficulty focusing. Dark circles marred the skin under them, and her face was drawn and pale. There was no sign of a feeding tube, and Edward couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. Angry red scratch marks decorated her throat and arms, a testament to the utter terror she must have felt at being abandoned in such a place.

"I'm so, so sorry," he whispered. "So sorry."

But even with all that, her eyes were beautiful. They stared at him in wonder, as if she couldn't quite decide whether she was awake or dreaming. Her sobs turned to little hiccups, though her tears did not abate.

"How did he do that?" Edward heard Dr. Anderson ask, but he didn't care. Let the doctor think whatever he liked.

"Are you okay now?" he asked, touching her wet cheek hesitantly. She felt cold—this whole facility felt cold. "That's right, deep breaths. You're fine. I'm here now."

She reached up with one shaking hand, her fingers ghosting against his as he stroked her cheek.

"I'm really here," he assured her. "I'm sorry this had to happen, little Wisp. I didn't want it to."

She moved slowly, her expression worried as if she feared she might be rebuffed, leaning into his outstretched arm in entreaty.

"Come here," Edward urged, relief filling him. "Come here; you know I won't hurt you."

Her expression did not change but her body lunged suddenly, faster than he'd expected. She lurched awkwardly int his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and clutching his shoulders tightly, her body trembling with the force of her grasp. A pleading whimper escaped her throat, and Edward shut his eyes tight as he slid his arms around her little body and held her close.

She wasn't okay—not by a long shot. But she knew him, remembered him, and was accepting comfort from him despite the fact that he'd deserted her. "Honey, I'm so sorry." There was no way he could turn those words into a meaningful gesture she would understand, but he held her as tightly as he dared and hoped that was enough. She smelled like the hospital—like disinfectant and old food—but he didn't care. His body relaxed when hers was safely cradled against him once again, and he leaned back against the bed frame.

"Amazing," Dr. Anderson murmured. He approached cautiously, but Wisp shied away from his nearing bulk, huddling further into the safety of Edward's arms. A pitiful cry sounded from her, and Edward would have done anything in that moment to stop the doctor's advance.

But Dr. Anderson stopped on his own, not venturing a step closer once his patient's fear was made plain. "How did you do that?" he asked.

"She trusts me," Edward said simply. "God knows she doesn't have any reason to, but she does. If you had bothered to watch her instead of just jumping to conclusions, you would have realized that she's terrified of furniture. When you tied her down to a bed like that, you were all but creating her panic attacks."

"I didn't do it, personally," Dr. Anderson said, "but I can assure you that whoever did was just following protocol."

"Maybe," Scott spoke up, "there are cases where we have to look elsewhere for answers." He nodded meaningfully toward the floor where Edward held the nameless girl huddled in his lap. She clutched his shirt tightly, as if terrified that he might suddenly disappear. Edward made a disgusted sound as she shivered in her thin scrubs, shucking off his light jacket and wrapping it around her body. She tucked herself up under the fabric, nestling into the cocoon of safety he'd created around her.

"We've never had a patient with a phobia of furniture before," Dr. Anderson said. "Not to my knowledge, anyway. This will be an interesting puzzle for us to solve. I wonder if she—"

"She doesn't belong here," Edward said angrily. "She's not a puzzle! She's a person—a very scared and confused person who doesn't need all of this stress right now."

"Edward," Scott rebuked lightly. "You know we can't—"

"Yes," Edward said sternly, "you _can_. You're her caseworker. You make the decisions."

Scott looked distinctly uncomfortable, but it was no more than the truth. He had the authority. He had to make the final decision.

Scott exhaled slowly. His face was painted in a mask of frustration, but Edward didn't really care at the moment what the social worker felt. The man needed to step up, needed to understand that it was his job to make the difficult decisions, the ones that were best for his clients. Leaving Wisp in this place would be the easy choice, which was why Dr. Lawton placed her here to begin with. But it wasn't the right one.

"Maybe we can use an office to discuss this?" Scott said slowly, looking to Dr. Anderson for approval.

"Not unless she comes, too," Edward said firmly. "I'm not leaving her again. You made me do it once, and look what happened."

"Edward, we have to be reasonable—" Scott tried.

"No," Edward all but growled, fighting to keep his voice calm for Wisp's sake.

"Let me approach her," Dr. Anderson said. "I want to check her vitals."

"I'm not in charge here," Edward replied, "she is. You can try all you want, but I can't tell her to do anything."

The doctor took a step forward, then another. Wisp's face was buried in the crook of Edward's shoulder, her soft breaths tickling his skin. She couldn't see the doctor, but as soon as she heard the rustle of his clothing she stiffened.

"Careful," Edward warned. "Don't panic her again."

"Believe me," Dr. Anderson said, "that's the last thing I want, too." He knelt next to them on the cold floor. "It's amazing how well you've calmed her."

"I didn't do it," Edward insisted. "She did it all on her own."

"But without you she wouldn't," the doctor said. "You might not be the director of her moods, but at the moment you're the catalyst. Will she let me check her pulse, do you think?"

Edward shrugged. She had submitted to Jasper's touch readily enough, but that was before she'd been forcibly ripped from an environment where she felt safe. He honestly didn't know what she might or might not allow.

"I'm right here," he soothed. "No one is going to hurt you. The doctor wants to check your pulse, little one. Will you let him?"

She did not respond, and the doctor carefully raised his hand to touch her arm, clutched tightly around Edward's neck.

She whimpered again, tightening her fist in the folds of his shirt.

"Don't push her," Edward warned. "Don't hurt her."

"I'm not the bad guy, Dr. Cullen," Dr. Anderson said, glancing at him. "I want to see how much her pulse and heart right might have improved now that she's calmer. I'd love to get a blood pressure, too, but I don't know how realistic that is."

Edward didn't know, either. Not very, if you asked him.

The doctor moved his fingers, slipping them down to touch the tender inside of her wrist. He did not pull her hand away from Edward's shirt, did nothing but held up his other arm with a watch to clock her pulse.

"Still high," he said after a moment. "But better—much better. Was she calm like this at your house, Dr. Cullen?"

"Calmer," Edward said. "She ate, she slept—hell, she _smiled_. Don't tell me you haven't seen a statement."

Dr. Anderson shook his head. "All we had was the recommendation from Dr. Lawton and the preliminary diagnosis."

"She's not retarded," Edward insisted. "That doctor didn't observe her. Didn't even look at the video that we'd shot. She just spouted off some shit out of her own head and took her."

Dr. Anderson looked at Edward appraisingly. "I think," he said slowly, "that that office might be a good idea, Mr. Williams."

"Not without her," Edward repeated.

"I want to observe her response if she's separated from you again," the doctor said. "Now that she's calm. It may be that she'll allow treatment now."

It was a reasonable request, and Edward hated it. He hated knowing that they'd have to scare her again in order to confirm what he already knew—that she did not cope well without him, regardless of the reason. Her trust might be utterly misplaced and unfounded, but he wasn't going to abuse it if he could help it.

"Try to let her go, please," Dr. Anderson said softly. "See what she does."

Edward didn't want to. He desperately did not want to. But there was noting he could do about it—the doctor might just be on his side if he could convince him that Wisp needed him. He hugged her close, feeling the trembling little ball of her body wrapped around him, and slowly moved to pull her arms away from his shoulders.

A panicked squeal left her mouth, and she redoubled her grip on him. For such a little thing, she had an amazingly strong grasp. Edward desperately did not want to hurt her, and he tried to be as gentle as possible as he eased her arms away.

She stopped fighting after a moment, giving up and folding in on herself, and the soft sobs began again. The sound tore at Edward's heart, and his hands paused. Could he really do it? Could he really physically force her away when she so clearly did not want to go?

His decision was made for him when she inhaled shakily and, on the exhale, she spoke.

"Ed...ward." It was a broken sound, her voice hoarse and scratchy, but nobody could have denied the word.

The doctor froze. Scott looked like his eyes were about to bug out.

Edward breathed out slowly, and he pulled her back against his chest. The testing stopped now. She'd clearly shown them how she felt, and he wasn't going to do anything more to stop her. "Yes," he said, smiling into her soft hair. "Yes, little Wisp. I'm Edward, and I'm going to do my best to make sure you're okay."

* * *

The office was forgotten, Scott and Dr. Anderson drawing chairs into the small cell of a room so they could talk. Scott was still unsure about letting Edward take the girl home with him, but after hearing the whole story, Dr. Anderson was inclined to agree to a trial period at least. The rookie social worker was no match for the combined pressure from both Edward and Dr. Anderson, and finally he agreed.

Though her immediate future hung in the balance, Wisp did not seem to pay any attention to the conversation. She sighed softly against Edward's shoulder, nuzzling him sweetly. He watched her fight to keep her eyes open despite her obvious exhaustion, whatever meds they had given her still wreaking havoc on her system. He hugged her tighter, adamant that he wasn't going to give her up now that he had her back. This wasn't a good place for her. She was terrified, and the staff was willing to let her stay that way because of protocol. No matter how well meaning they were, they couldn't open their eyes and see that this was an unorthodox case that needed an unorthodox approach.

The three men were silent for a long time after Scott finally agreed to a trial period, all watching the girl slowly drift to sleep in Edward's arms. She fought as long as she could, but eventually the residual drugs in her system dragged her under. Edward tucked his jacket closer around her, wishing he had something better to warm her. He couldn't describe the relief he felt at having her back in his arms—safe and, for the moment, peaceful. She wasn't screaming, there was no tube running from her nose to her stomach, and she wasn't being forcibly sedated. Maybe it wasn't ideal, but he'd take it.

"You know," Scott whispered finally, "this is going to take a _lot_ of paperwork. And you," he turned to Edward, "need to get certified with the state as a foster home. Pronto."


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: *blushes* Thank you all for your wonderful reviews, and to those of you who are pimping my little plot bunny. I'm seriously speechless!_

Sunflower3759_ pwnd last chapter's reviews with this gem: "Wow, Edward is like a 'Wisperer'...he is the only one who can calm 'wisp' down. She needs to go home with him and the rest of the family. He did the right thing...I am going to call this Edward Wisperward..." Lol! My Edward has a nickname!_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

Rosalie was in Edward's kitchen when he got home. He rolled his eyes slightly, not as surprised as he otherwise might be, as he shouldered the front door open, the savory smell of cooking wafting to him.

"Hi, honey, I'm home," he called mockingly, his arms full of a very sleepy Wisp.

Dr. Anderson confirmed that the residual sedative in her system would probably take a few days to completely wear off, particularly since her metabolism was so slow. He'd enthusiastically entrusted her medical care to Carlisle and Jasper, stating that the combined attention of a pediatrician and a surgeon couldn't be bad. They were to call at any time, day or night, if they needed help or referral to a specialist.

Scott had also given him a long list of things to either do or not do. In addition to getting approved as a foster home, Edward had to file weekly progress reports, and Scott insisted that they be as detailed as possible. What and when she ate, her sleep habits, moods, and any more words she might utter.

Edward had asked about the soundness of her knees, to which Dr. Anderson replied that they had not taken x-rays or attempted to diagnose her in any way. He offered to do it while they were still at the hospital, but Edward declined. He felt sure that either Carlisle or Jasper could do it back in Forks with minimal emotional trauma to little Wisp. His main goal was just to get her out of there as quickly as possible.

She had dozed throughout the drive back to Forks, her head usually pillowed against Edward's shoulder, her neck crooked at an angle that looked rather uncomfortable. But he refused to try to move her—not for the world. Not if it would cause her further fear or pain. She could lean on him as much as she wanted, as far as Edward was concerned.

Now she looked around his cabin again, blinking sleepily, her eyes taking in the small living room she'd last occupied two weeks ago. Edward watched her carefully, wishing he could know what she was thinking, what she was feeling. Did she remember this place? Surely she must, because she remembered him. Was she glad to be back? He hoped so. Anything had to be better than wherever she came from, and also better than that damn hospital, where they had frightened her badly because they refused to question protocol and really listen to what she needed.

Rosalie leaned in the kitchen doorway, looking smug. "Hello to you, too," she said. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, her perfect eyebrows arched in amusement. "And you, little Wisp. Fancy seeing you again." She did not sound surprised in the least.

"Very funny." Edward paused in the room, wondering what his next move should be. He couldn't put the girl down on the couch, and he hated the thought of depositing her on the floor. But he still had an armful of official papers to bring in from the car, and he couldn't exactly stand here in the middle of the room holding her for the rest of the night.

"She looks tired," Rosalie observed. She righted herself, stepping over and peering at the girl cuddled against Edward's shoulder. Big brown eyes blinked slowly at her, thick with sleep.

"They had her fucking sedated," Edward growled, feeling the anger rising in his chest once again. "Thankfully a doctor agreed to give me a chance to care for her. A trial period only, supposedly, but I can't see them taking her away again if she does better here than she did in that hospital."

"Well, at least you didn't kidnap her, so Carlisle can't complain."

Edward grimaced. Realistically, there would have been absolutely no way to kidnap her from a place like that—she wasn't getting out without a doctor's approval. But he still wasn't looking forward to explaining to Carlisle or Emmett just what he'd done. They would understand eventually, but he was willing to bet his uncle would not be pleased that Edward had intervened.

"I couldn't leave her there, Rose," he said quietly. "You didn't see that place. I couldn't."

"I know." For once, there was no hint of sarcasm in Rosalie's voice. "You did good, Cullen."

Edward smiled softly, looking at the girl curled in his arms. She was watching Rosalie, though she looked neither frightened nor wary—just tired.

"Why don't you give her here?" Rose suggested, offering her arms. "There are some clothes in her closet—I'll get her changed into something that doesn't reek like a hospital, and we can see about dinner. I made chicken soup—I thought it would be something easy for her to eat."  
Edward wasn't at all sure about leaving Wisp so soon after getting her back, but he shifted her toward Rosalie's waiting arms experimentally.

The experiment ended abruptly when little fingers clutched at his shoulders, a frightened whimper leaving her throat. She hugged him as tightly as she could, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.

"Okay," he soothed, redoubling his grip on her. "Okay, little Wisp. You've made your point. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"I guess that takes care of that, then," Rose said. She flashed him a commiserating look. "Sorry, Ed. Is there something I can do down here while you get her changed?"

"Yeah—there's some papers in the back seat of my car. Would you grab them for me?" He rubbed Wisp's back with his thumb softly, then headed for the stairs. "Where's Emmett, by the way?"

"Working late, as usual. J—" She stopped herself just before saying that name. "_His_ arraignment is tomorrow, and Emmett wants to make sure he doesn't fuck anything up."

Edward nodded. It had taken long enough. He wished the bastard would talk, but at least after tomorrow he'd be formally charged and they'd know he wasn't going anywhere. Surely a judge would deny a monster like James bail, right?

He carried the girl up the stairs and into the little guest room, which he hadn't entered since she'd been taken. Someone clearly had, though. The closet was open, and there were clothes hung in the dark little space. Upon inspection, there were also clothes folded in the drawers of the little dresser.

"Let's see if we can't get you more comfortable, huh?" Edward said, smiling reassuringly at the girl in his arms. She eyed him warily, as if afraid that he might try to leave her again. "It's okay," he tried to tell her. "I know you're afraid, but you don't have to be. Not anymore. If you want me to hold you for the whole next week, just to reassure you, I will."

She did not want to be put down but, as always, she did not resist. She _did_ stumble on her hands and knees next to Edward, her shoulder pressing against his leg as he crossed to the dresser again and began to pull out soft clothes that looked like pajamas. He couldn't blame her for her fear, nor could he bring himself to try to stop her.

"I know," he said softly, instead. "I know. You don't trust that I'll stay. I'm sorry, little Wisp. I'll do my best to work on that trust."

She didn't answer, her eyes watching him carefully as he shook out a pair of incredibly soft purple fleece sleeping pants. They were definitely more her size than the man's pajamas he'd given her before.

"We'll have to thank Rosalie for thinking of all this," he said, grabbing a pair of underwear and a long-sleeved cream-colored shirt. "Maybe Esme, too. This doesn't look like the sort of clothes Alice would buy, though. They're far too functional."

Wisp was docile as he carefully removed her hospital scrubs, replacing them with the new clothes. She watched him with great attention, following every movement of his hands as he pulled her arms through the sleeves, carefully lowering the neck of the shirt over her head. Her brow knit together in a puzzled little frown once she was dressed, and she looked up at Edward in supplication.

"What?" he asked. "What do you need?"

She chewed on her swollen lower lip, glancing at the dresser, then at Edward.

"I wish I could read your mind," he told her, "but I can't. You have to give me some sort of clue, little one."

It took several minutes, but finally she extended her bare feet out to him, her face raised toward his in entreaty.

Edward exhaled a little laugh as her wish clicked in his mind. "How silly of me to forget," he said, rubbing one bare foot gently before returning to the dresser to find her some socks. "You remembered, though, didn't you? Don't believe anything that doctor said about you. You're smart, I just know it."

She hugged herself tightly once she was dressed again, and Edward saw the faint hint of a smile hover over her lips for an instant. He wanted to give her a bath, to wash away the scent and memory of the hospital, but she was tired. That could wait until tomorrow.

"I don't know how much you can understand me," he said, cupping her face carefully in his hands and gazing into her huge brown eyes, "but I'm going to take care of you now. Okay? You don't belong in that scary place, and I'll do my best to make sure you never have to go back there."

Her eyes gazed into his, liquid and deep. It was impossible to know how much she understood, but Edward had hope. She'd said his name, after all. It didn't mean she had complex language skills, but it _did_ mean that she understood who he was, and could mimic the sound that other people associated with him. It was far more than he'd expected, and he felt something strange stirring in his chest when she gazed at him so openly, no facade between them. There was something so incredibly innocent and pure about her, despite what he _knew_ she'd been through.

"Poor thing," he murmured. "You're so sweet. Whatever he did to you, little Wisp, you didn't deserve it. None of it."

Rosalie had dished up mugs of chicken noodle soup and put them on the coffee table when Edward carried Wisp back downstairs. There were cushions on the floor for all three of them, and Edward flashed her a grateful look as he carefully settled Wisp on one.

"I thought it was too soon to start working on that furniture fear," Rose said, stirring soup with a spoon. "Easier to just make her comfortable tonight."

"Thank you," Edward said, watching as Wisp sat obediently on her cushion, her attention caught by the wide soup mug before her. She did not reach out to touch, but she sniffed the air in a way Edward remembered well.

"Let's see if you can hold the mug and drink," Edward said. "We won't worry about a spoon tonight." He offered her the mug, which she took carefully in her two hands. She held it to her nose and breathed in deeply, watching Edward worriedly over the rim. He picked up his own mug and took a sip of broth, hoping she would understand that it was okay to eat.

Rose had only filled Wisp's mug about halfway, in accordance with Carlisle's warning about small meals. Dr. Anderson had concurred, saying it was better to be safe than sorry if they planned to feed her without a tube. Small, frequent meals would be the key to helping her digestive system learn to function again.

Wisp mimicked him, sucking in a small mouthful of soup. Her eyes closed reflexively, as if in pure pleasure, and she swallowed thickly.

"Now _that's_ the kind of response any cook wants," Rosalie said, grinning.

Edward continued to watch his new ward as he ate his own meal. Rose's soup was very simple—good for the girl's delicate stomach. The broth was thin, and there were chunks of white chicken, rounds of carrot, slices of celery, and some curly noodles. That was it. There were some herbs flavoring the soup, but little to no salt, which would be hard on Wisp's stomach. She seemed to love it, finishing her mug quickly.

"The rest is in the refrigerator," Rosalie told Edward as she picked up the empty dishes. "Esme also made a chicken and dumpling casserole; it's in the freezer."

So Esme _was_ in on it. Edward had suspected so.

"Do you need anything else?" Rose asked. She rubbed her palms on the thighs of her jeans. "I should probably be heading back to Emmett soon."

"Thank you," Edward said, not knowing when he'd ever felt those words so strongly. "For everything."

"No problem," Rose said. She smiled at Wisp, who was yawning and drooping a little over the table. "We were all worried, you know, not just you."

Yes, Edward knew. But no one else had been worried enough to do anything about it...or, perhaps, they all just assumed he would? He shrugged off the question. It didn't really matter anymore. Wisp was here again, and he planned to keep her for as long as she needed him. Someday he hoped to be able to return her to her family, but that wouldn't be possible until they learned just who she was. And who knew how long that would take if James refused to talk?

She was nearly asleep, but she used the toilet and submitted to tooth brushing without a fight—not that Edward expected one from her. He inspected the angry red scratch marks on her smooth skin, but she hadn't broken the surface. They would heal in time.

"Now," he said, "here's the question. Do we try putting you to bed?"

She yawned and tucked herself against him, which wasn't terribly helpful. Edward chuckled and picked her up, letting her nestle in his arms as he carried her up to the guest room. In truth, he didn't want to let her out of his sight. But Dr. Lawton's angry accusations about his intentions toward the girl echoed in his head and he didn't feel right, under the circumstances, trying to stay with her while she slept. Helping her change and bathe was one thing—it was necessary at the moment, until she learned to do these things for herself. But lingering while she slept was something else entirely.

"Okay," he said slowly. "I'm still not sure what's best to do, little one, but I guess we'll just have to wing it."

She didn't protest as he lowered himself to the bed, sitting on the soft mattress and holding her in his lap. Her body was warm against his, pliable and sweet. Her hair was limp and she still smelled like the hospital, but that could be fixed tomorrow. After she got some much-needed sleep.

"Never again," he told her quietly, his hand rubbing slowly up and down her back. "No one's ever going to drug you to keep you quiet for days again. No one's going to shove a tube down your throat. No one will hit you, or whatever else James did that made you hurt."

Her eyes slid closed, one hand fisted in the material of his shirt. "Ed...ward," she mumbled, and it was impossible to tell whether she was asleep or awake when the word slipped from her lips.

His heart raced faster, just as it had the first time she uttered his name. "Yes," he told her, hugging her close. "I'm Edward, sweet girl, and I'm going to take care of you."

Her mouth moved slightly, but no noise emerged. She was well and truly asleep.

Edward shifted her carefully in his arms, laying her in the little daybed and tucking her under the soft blankets. He doubted that she would stay there for the whole night, but that was no reason not to let her sleep in comfort for at least a little while. There was nothing holding her down so, once she woke, she could slip out of bed if she so wished.

"Sleep," Edward said, trailing his fingers over her cheek. "You've been so brave. Rest now."

* * *

A soft, pitiful cry roused Edward from his sleep, and he fumbled for the light next to his bed. Squinting at the glowing numbers on his alarm clock, he saw that it was barely two in the morning.

The sound came again, and Edward stumbled out of bed, heading for the room across the hall. Though his mind was fuzzy with sleep, he knew what that sound meant. Wisp was awake, and she was crying. This was something he was powerless to ignore, even had he wanted to. The quiet, hopeless sound made his heart hurt. She was so afraid of everything, and he felt a deep-seated need to quell that fear as much as he could, to soothe whatever inside her hurt. No one whole could possibly make a sound like that, he was positive.

The light from his room illuminated the hallway fitfully, and Edward nearly stumbled over her huddled form, curled just outside the door to his bedroom. Her head was bent, her knees raised to her chest as she rocked hesitantly, not quite daring to slip inside his room. Edward let out a long breath, guilt welling up inside him, along with no small amount of frustration. He had done this, had created her desperate fear of being abandoned, because he'd done just that—abandoned her when she desperately needed him. In time, he hoped she would learn that she didn't have to be afraid anymore, but that didn't help either of them in this moment.

"Oh, honey," he said quietly. The thick, listening silence of two a.m. closed in around them as Edward knelt next to her quivering body. "I'm right here. Wisp, little one, I'm here. You're not alone. Not abandoned. You're fine, pretty girl. You're fine."

She latched onto him when he knelt and offered her his arms. The salty-sweet smell of tears was strong, and Edward brushed her wet cheeks with the hem of his long sleeve before picking her up in his arms. She shuddered and heaved a huge, relieved sigh into the curve of his neck, her arms winding around his shoulders and holding him fiercely. Edward swayed slightly, trying to soothe her with whispered words, his sleep-muddled mind clawing for a way to fix this _now_. She needed his presence in order to feel secure right now, and he couldn't fault her for that. Not after he'd abandoned her, however unwillingly. But Dr. Lawton's accusations hovered close in his memory, taunting him. No matter how much he wanted to just tuck her close against his chest and let her sleep right there, he didn't think it was a good idea. Not if people were going to accuse him of sexual misconduct with a girl who might be a minor, a girl who, for all intents and purposes, could not legally consent to anything.

Her soft breaths shuddered against his throat, and Edward felt the wet touch of tears that told him she was not done crying yet. Hope that she would fall quickly back to sleep fled, as it became clear that she equated sleep with him leaving her alone. Like the most determined preschooler, she wasn't succumbing to sleep if she could help it.

Edward took a deep breath, preparing himself for what might be a very long night. He didn't blame her at all—_he'd_ done this, and it was his job now to soothe the fear he'd instilled in her. She thought he would disappear if she went to sleep, and Edward's own actions had caused that panic.

"Well," he said softly, his voice oddly hollow in the nighttime silence, "if you're not going to sleep, would you like a bath?"

He had an ulterior motive, yes, and he wasn't afraid to admit it. Her body desperately needed sleep to heal itself, and he was going to try every soothing thing he could think of to get her back to sleep. A hot bath was also something he knew she loved, and he hoped it would help cheer her up.

She made an excited noise when he brought her into the bathroom and started the water, and Edward couldn't help but smile at her as he settled her on the countertop. "Soon enough we'll start working on your autonomy," he said, carefully pulling her shirt off of her body, "but for tonight, let's just leave well enough alone, shall we?"

Once unclothed, she was eager for the water. She settled happily into the filling tub once Edward set her in it, her tear tracks nearly dry on her pale cheeks. She smiled up at him, and the gratitude on her face took his breath away. It floored him every time something so small, so simple, got such a big reaction. He shuddered to think what her life must have been like before he found her in the back of James' truck. To be so grateful for a _bath_, and companionship...it blew his mind.

Edward wasn't at all surprised to find some fruit-scented body wash and shampoo in the cabinet under the sink, but he did chuckle a little when he saw the pink bottle of bubble bath sitting innocuously in the corner. He glanced over his shoulder at Wisp, who was holding her wet hand close to her face and examining her fingers, then brought the bottle with him. He poured a little bit into the stream of running water, a soft scent wafting up around them.

Wisp's eyes grew huge and she gasped softly as the foamy white hill of bubbles began to build. Edward dipped up a handful and held it out to her, dabbing the bubbles gently against her wet hand. She jerked away, then poked the handful of silvery foam cautiously with one fingertip.

"It's not scary," Edward said, smiling as she brought a small amount up toward her narrowed eyes. "It's fun—I guess. I haven't had a bubble bath since I was maybe five years old, but I hear girls like them." Actually, that wasn't quite true. He'd sat in bubble baths with Tanya more than once, but in that instance it definitely wasn't the bubbles that he considered _fun_.

Her caution slowly melted away, replaced by a kind of awed fascination. Edward hid a yawn behind his hand, enthralled with watching her. Everything they introduced her to was practically new to her, like she'd never experienced it before. It was beyond interesting, both to the human heart within him that she'd touched, and to the mind of a practicing social scientist.

But, while the bath did soothe her tears and cheer her up, it was not lulling her to sleep. Edward was perfectly happy to try other remedies—warm tea, soft music—but he didn't know if any of it would really work, especially if she realized what he was trying to do. He could really use another opinion right now, but he didn't know whether it was worth waking up someone else in the middle of the night. Rosalie _had_ said he could call if he needed anything. Really, he would prefer Esme's advice, but calling Esme meant calling Carlisle and he wasn't quite ready to do that yet. Alice would be happy to help, but he was trying to get the girl to sleep, not keep her up indefinitely.

Which left Rosalie.

Emmett slept like the dead, so calling Rose might or might not wake him up. Edward wasn't too worried either way—he didn't really think Emmett would blame him for pressuring Scott to give Wisp back. He probably would be sore that Edward hadn't shared his plan beforehand, but Emmett never stayed mad for long.

Edward looked cautiously at Wisp. She was playing quietly with the bubbles, making shapes by molding and scooping the foam into mounds. He suspected that she'd be upset when he left to get the phone, but it would only be for a moment.

Sure enough, a sharp, startled cry rang out from the bathroom as he slipped into the kitchen to grab the house phone. He hurried back, unsurprised to see her kneeling in the tub, her hands clenched tightly on the edge, her brown eyes wide and worried as she stared toward the door.

"I'm here," he said quietly, touching her pale cheek. "You're fine. I promise, I'm not going to abandon you again."

She narrowed her eyes, watching him suspiciously as he sat down on the bathmat next to the tub. Only after he settled into place did she follow suit, sitting back in the water, Edward touched her hand, rubbing the warm, wet skin as he punched in Rosalie's cell number with his other hand.

She answered on the fourth ring, which was sooner than he expected.

"It's nothing, Em," she said, her voice muffled. "Go back to sleep." The static sound of movement crackled across the line, and then Edward heard her release a long breath. "What's up?"

"She won't sleep," Edward said bluntly. There was no point in beating around the bush with Rose.

Rosalie snorted. "You sound like a father with a newborn."

"Not funny." Edward watched Wisp carefully, but she was ignoring him entirely, as if he wasn't even talking. "She woke up crying, and she won't let go. She's afraid of going to sleep, I know she is, because that's when I leave her."

"So don't leave her."

Edward made a face. This was why he wanted Esme's advice, not Rosalie's. "It's not that simple! I'm a dude—I can't just bring her to bed with me like she's a teddy bear. You heard what Dr. Lawton said."

"Fuck Lawton and the horse she rode in on," Rosalie said flatly. "You know you're not a predator. I know you're not a predator. Wisp won't sleep unless you're there. What part of this isn't making sense to you?"

Edward raised his free hand to pull at his sleep-tousled hair. "That's easy for you to say. You're not the one she accused of molesting—"

"Yeah, I was there, I heard what she said," Rose said, cutting him off. "Look, Edward. You're a good guy. The fact that you're even worried about this proves it. If she needs a teddy bear for a while, then channel your inner Elvis and be her teddy bear. Who knows? You might actually get her to sleep on a bed for a while without freaking out."

"But I'm supposed to be documenting everything for the state," Edward argued. "I don't think Scott would like it very much if—"

"Do you know why I keep interrupting you, Edward?" Rosalie interrupted again. "Because what you're saying is stupid. Is it normal? No, of course not, but what part of your current situation is? If you must document, then explain in said document that she won't sleep without you. Make it clear that you will be working on her dependency issues—weaning her, as it were, but gently. Not cruelly, like they tried to do. I can't promise they'll listen, but what other choice do you have? A lot of sleepless nights and a girl who panics every time she feels tired. Not a recipe for success, if you ask me."

And, of course, Rose was right. She was often right, and just as often smug about it, which made it ten times worse. Edward sighed and tugged on his hair again. "Okay," he said. "Okay." Wisp needed to sleep. She needed to flush the residual sedative out of her system, and her body needed to rest and heal. That wouldn't happen if she worked herself into a panic attack every time she felt sleepy. Rosalie was right—he only had two choices, realistically. Well, three. A doctor would probably suggest medication to make her sleep—not something as severe as the sedative she'd been given at the hospital, but Edward was done feeding her any medication she didn't vitally need. That awful vision of her in the hospital, bound and screaming, was seared into his memory. No more. Not if he could help it.

So he had one option. Edward ended the call and put the phone aside, letting out the cooling water and getting a towel for Wisp. She watched the last of the bubbles swirl down the drain with a sad little sigh, but she didn't protest when he dried and dressed her again. Her hair still smelled like the hospital, since they hadn't washed it, but her skin now smelled like pink bubble bath. It was a childish scent, and only reinforced how absolutely wrong it would be to even think about doing what Dr. Lawton had suggested. Rosalie was right—she was a baby in this world. No matter her chronological age, taking advantage of her would be sick and wrong.

"You know," Edward said, offering her a cup of water, "she's irritating as hell, but Rosalie Hale is one smart woman."

Wisp drank thirstily, then came willingly into his arms as he lifted her again.

"We're going to try something new," Edward told her. "I hope it will help you feel better. You need to understand that you're safe even when you can't see me, but I know that's difficult right now." He carried her into his room, still bathed in dim light from his bedside lamp. "This isn't permanent," he warned her, sitting carefully on the bed. "It's just until you're comfortable in your own bed."

Her big, dark eyes watched him calmly. Sitting on his lap clearly did not bother her, regardless of his location.

"I'd love if we could figure this out," he murmured, scooting toward the middle of the bed, "because sleeping on the floor really isn't appealing to me, you know? Beds are much more comfortable."

Worry lit in her eyes as he began to lower himself into a reclining position, turning slightly at the same time so she was pillowed partially on the bed and partially on his chest. Her breathing picked up, and she began to chew violently on her lower lip again. He felt her warm body tense in his arms and she struggled against him, pulling fretfully toward the edge of the bed.

"Shh," he soothed, pulling her further on top of his body. Her little weight was negligible to him, and she calmed somewhat once most of her body was no longer in contact with the mattress. "Clearly this is going to take a while."

He held her for quite some time as she lay awkwardly on top of his body, tense and unsure. His hands rubbed her shoulders, stroked her hair, and ran down her back, trying to soothe her. Slowly she calmed, resting her head on his chest and relaxing minutely. Edward wasn't at all sure that she had actually accepted her new position—he suspected that she was just too tired to fight him anymore. After another few minutes her breathing evened out, her body melting sweetly against his.

Edward gazed blearily at the clock by his bed. Three-thirty in the morning. He hoped she didn't kick in her sleep. With her on his chest he couldn't reach the lamp to turn it off, so with a slight shrug he closed his eyes, one hand holding her hip, the other woven in the dark strands of her soft hair.

* * *

_A/N: One or two people have asked whether Wisp/Bella will ever be able to have a healthy romantic relationship, either with Edward or with anyone else. It's a wonderful question, and the answer is that I honestly don't know. I purposely didn't include "romance" as one of the genres because I wasn't sure how that was going to play out, and I'm still not sure. If this was RL, I'd say there's about a snowball's chance in hell, to be honest. Since it's fiction, I'm not willing to count her out just yet. :) HOWEVER, while I'm happy to play around the edges of squickiness, there won't be any lemony-type material while she's obviously unable to really consent. If you want that sort of story, it's called Daddy's Girl by Jessee03. I won't comment on the relative quality of the writing, only that I can't condone the characters' actions towards that Bella._

_Mwah! Loves you, duckies!_


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: OMG, so much to say! DarkNnerdy recced this little plot bunny on **Wordy**** Bitches** over the weekend, which was enough to make me have a coronary. Then she talked me into joining the 21st century and getting a Twitter account. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with it in regards to my fanfic - anyone want to help me out and explain to me? I'm judo_lin. See, idk if I'm even supposed to just blurt that out. Twitter etiquette? DarkNnerdy, JamesRamsey, Nicffwhisperer, and (dear god) luvrofink were saying such sweet things! I seriously couldn't write all weekend. Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, recced, or pimped this story. I'm absolutely blown away by your sweetness!  
_

_Huge thanks to Bob for prereading this one! I usually don't ask for help, but I had a couple of questions that have (hopefully) now been smoothed out. :)_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

If she kicked, jerked, or otherwise moved in her sleep, Edward didn't feel it. He woke up around nine the next morning, sleep-bleary, a little confused as to why he felt so warm. He was normally a restless sleeper, often kicking off his blankets at some point during the night.

But when he opened his eyes, the reason became clear. Wisp's soft hair was spread out over his chest, her face snuggled into his shirt and her mouth slightly pouted as she slept. Her legs sprawled to either side of him, her warm little body quiet and at peace.

Beauty didn't describe her. Though her skin was still marred by bruises and she was skinny rather than slim, she was an absolute vision. She cuddled under his blankets, her expression peaceful and calm for perhaps one of the only times he could remember. Edward felt his heart quiver at that look. He was positive he'd do whatever it took to see it again.

There was absolutely nothing pressing to do today, so Edward was more than happy to let her sleep as long as she liked. Loath to disturb her, he stayed where he was. If she wanted to keep him close, if that's what she needed to feel secure, he'd gladly give it to her. Anything to keep those tortured sobs at bay.

Now that she was back, Edward knew he had to start thinking about the future. It hadn't been a big deal to him before—getting her out of that hospital had been his only goal. This morning, though, reality began to sink in. She needed a lot of help, and while he was more than happy to do whatever was necessary, he had no real idea what that might be. All he knew was that he wasn't going to push her, to rush her into anything. Scaring her was not an option; not anymore. He had a feeling that too many people in her past had done so, and he wasn't going to be one of them.

As far as he knew, the police had had no luck yet tracking down her family members, or even her identity. Spotty hospital records showed nothing. There were literally millions of missing persons cases, and Edward didn't know if there was an easy, systematic way to search them all. But someone had to be looking for her, didn't they? Parents? Relatives? She was a strikingly beautiful girl. Surely _someone_ must be missing her?

She slept for a long time. Edward was just about to try shifting her off his body so he could make a quick trip to the bathroom when she stirred, rubbing her cheek against his shirt and humming a soft, sleepy sound. Edward stroked his hand gently down her back, hoping not to startle her. She was a jumpy little thing, and with good reason as far as he was concerned.

"Hi," he said, low and quiet. Her head moved again, raising slightly and turning toward him. Those huge brown eyes were going to be the death of him, he just knew it. Her brow puckered for a heartbeat before it smoothed out again and she gazed at him silently. Edward couldn't place her expression—sleepy, yes, and solemn. Anything else was lost on him, though her delicate features were soft and open—utterly guileless. She was like Linear A, a language which once meant something, now lost to time. He ached for the translation. With one careful fingertip he traced her warm cheek, the creases his shirt had made in her tender skin. These marks would fade in a few minutes, unlike the others he'd seen on her.

"I wish we had a clue," he said quietly. "Just one clue to who you are and what you've been through."

She cocked her head to the side slightly, exhaling a breath through her nose. Edward moved his fingers slowly, tracing the lip she loved to chew on. Carlisle had told him she bit it badly at the hospital, but it didn't look much worse than usual. "Someone has to be looking for you," he said quietly. "You can't possibly be alone in this world."

But for all intents and purposes, she _was_ very much alone at the moment. Whoever was supposed to protect her, wherever he or she might be, had not done their job. And Edward wasn't stupid. He knew that countless other people in the world had been hurt or abandoned. This one little girl was not the only soul who had suffered at the hands of others. But she was here in front of him, and he was powerless to ignore her silent cry for help. "We'll find them for you," he promised, and he felt the vow deep in his chest. She might not know what he was saying, but he did. And he wasn't going to stop until they knew the truth.

"I didn't like that Dr. Lawton," he told her, dropping his hands to settle around her waist. "I bet you didn't, either. But I think we might need someone to help us puzzle out your mystery. What do you think?"

She didn't answer, as he knew she would not. Edward was extremely hesitant to add a stranger to her life, particularly after the run-in with the psychologist from DHS. But he was willing to admit that he didn't really know what he was doing. Aside from keeping her safe, happy, and healthy, he didn't know what he was qualified to offer her.

"Come on," Edward said, rubbing her back softly. "Let's get up for the day. I bet you'd like some breakfast."

She was more than happy to clamber off of the bed once he moved, indicating that he wanted to get up. Edward held back a sigh as he watched her drop from the mattress to her knees. "Furniture won't hurt you, you know," he said, but there was absolutely no way to convince her of that.

She held her arms out when he offered his, and Edward carried her carefully down the stairs and left her alone in the bathroom for a few minutes. She wasn't heavy, but he couldn't see his feet when he carried her and that was something he was going to have to get used to on the stairs. Misstepping and dropping her was simply not an option.

Once he heard the toilet flush, Edward opened the door and peered inside. She was sitting on the bathmat, worrying her lip in her teeth and rubbing the soft sleeve of her shirt with her fingers. Her expression relaxed once she saw him; clearly it was going to take some time to ease her fears of abandonment.

"Let's get you some breakfast," he said. "We'll worry about your hair and stuff later."

He set her up at the coffee table with a small bowl of applesauce, a little milk, and a spoon. It was a distraction as much as anything, so he could use the bathroom himself without causing her too much distress. She handled the spoon awkwardly, but it hardly mattered. Food was going in her mouth, and she was sufficiently interested in it that she only glanced Edward's way as he slipped into the bathroom.

They were going to have to work on this separation anxiety, and Edward wondered as he brushed his teeth whether he should consult Jasper first or just wade right into the murky field of internet research. Jasper wasn't a psychologist, but he worked with children and might know something useful.

Edward had to admit, though, that he didn't mind most of Wisp's clinginess. She was afraid, and he wanted nothing more than to soothe her fear. When she curled sweetly into his lap, calm and relaxed, he knew for certain that she was okay. Not better. Not healed. But, for the moment, okay. The only difficulty lay in these instances of necessary separation—using the bathroom, showering, and other things he just wasn't willing to do with an onlooker. He also wasn't at all interested in trying to take her out in public—the poor thing might have a heart attack from fear alone—so what was he supposed to do when he had to go to the grocery store, the gas station, the post office? She had to learn that he could leave her sight for more than a minute at a time, and that he was going to come back.

The sound of the house phone ringing brought Edward out of his thoughts, and he ran to answer it. Emmett's voice was loud and insistent in his ear, and he winced and turned the volume down slightly as he returned to the living room. Wisp was still seated on her cushion at the coffee table. She had abandoned the spoon and was now swiping her fingers in the bowl to catch the last morsels of applesauce.

"Hey," Emmett said, "you still at home? You better get a move on. James' arraignment is in half an hour and I know you don't want to miss it."

Shit. Edward closed his eyes. He'd completely forgotten. Yes, he did want to go, but he couldn't—wouldn't—leave Wisp or expose her to that sort of atmosphere. And to bring her into James' presence again, to force her to look at the man who had held her captive inside the back of a pickup truck, was absolutely out of the question.

"I can't, Em," he said, brushing his hand over Wisp's head as he passed her and sat on the couch. She rested her head against his knee, seemingly perfectly content.

"Can't? You crazy, man?" Emmett laughed. "Shit, this case is all you've been able to talk about for weeks. When was the last time you did any work on your book?"

Edward had absolutely no interest in his book at the moment. He didn't care. Wisp was far more important. "Look, I know," he said. "But something came up, and—it's complicated, okay? Will you come over afterward and tell me what happened?"

"I guess." Emmett sounded confused, which was not altogether unusual. "But I don't get it. You care about that little girl, don't you? Don't you want to hear what James has to say?"

"I don't really think he's going to say anything." He hadn't so far, and Edward wasn't holding out much hope that an arraignment would change that. "Really the only question is his plea, and whether the judge grants him bail."

"Prosecutor's gonna argue that he's a flight risk. I can't see the judge granting bail in this case. Are you really okay, Ed? You know Carlisle's been worried."

"I know," Edward said, smiling at the girl resting against his knees. Yes, Carlisle certainly had been worried, and he likely wouldn't be pleased with Edward's improvident choice to pressure Scott to bring Wisp back. But that wasn't his biggest concern right now. Far more important was the health and well-being of the girl in his care and, in order to keep her safe, he needed to stay with her right now. She would not handle a separation well, and Edward wasn't going to make her. "When you come over later, we can discuss it."

"I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to look at poker night the same way again," Emmett muttered. "Maybe we should just skip this month, y'know?"

"It's still two weeks away. Let's not worry about it until we have to, huh?"

"Okay, Mr. Sociologist. I'll see you this evening. You'd better have beer in the fridge."

Edward hung up the phone, turning to the girl at his feet. She smiled up at him, sweet and trusting.

"I'd like to give you something a little more substantial for breakfast," he said. "Do you want to come help me see what else Rosalie and Esme stuck in the kitchen?"

Counters did not seem to count as furniture in her mind, and she was more than happy to sit next to the sink in the kitchen as Edward opened cupboards, pulling out boxes, jars, and bags of food he _knew_ he hadn't purchased. It was all simple, relatively healthy staples that would hopefully be easy on her stomach. Rice, lentils, pasta, split peas, cans of chicken broth and tomato sauce. In the refrigerator he found fresh fruits and vegetables, some salmon fillets and chicken breasts. Orange and cranberry juices, milk, yogurt, cheddar and Swiss cheeses. Whole wheat bread, deli meats, and, yes, there was still some of his beer pushed to the back of the top shelf. Emmett would be happy.

"What about oatmeal?" he asked, showing her an instant packet. "That should be about the right amount so Carlisle won't get mad at us for overfeeding you."

She watched in fascination as he tore open the packet, added water to the bowl, and microwaved it into a steaming, sticky sludge. He added a spoonful of brown sugar to the plain-flavored oatmeal, and let her stay on the counter while she ate it. Her face melted in a mask of pleasure when the first taste of sugar touched her tongue, and Edward couldn't help the wide smile that broke over his mouth.

"I haven't forgotten about that chocolate cake," he told her. "Just wait until Carlisle says your stomach's okay, and then you're in for a treat."

Monitoring her morning toothbrushing and face-washing did not take too long, and Edward tried to be careful as he brushed her soft hair with the purple brush that had appeared in his bathroom. He'd watched Alice start from the bottom and work her way to the scalp, which seemed backward to him but, then, he'd never had long hair before. He did his best to mimic Alice's technique while the girl sat preternaturally still and let him do as he pleased.

Jasper would be a good place to start, he decided. He was probably at the clinic right now, but Edward could at least leave a message. Everyone was going to find out sooner or later that Wisp was back with him, so there was no point in trying to hide her. If Jasper could give him some clues about dealing with the separation anxiety, it would be a day well spent.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as he carried Wisp back into the living room. Sunlight glimmered through the closed curtains at his window, and he set her down so he could let in the light. To his surprise, she crawled promptly into the bright square of sun and curled up happily, a soft smile on her face as the heat bled through her. "I guess that answers that question, huh?" He couldn't help but smile, and yet he was a little unnerved at the same time. She was like a cat dozing in the sun which, while cute, was also worrying. Plenty of people loved to nap in the sun, he told himself. Wasn't that what sunbathing was, after all? There was nothing so terribly unusual about her actions.

She kept her eyes slitted open, watching him as he took her dishes to the kitchen and came back with the phone. Clearly, she wasn't going to let him get very far away again.

"Edward!" Jasper greeted when Edward called. "You caught me on my lunch break. What's going on? I thought you'd be at James' arraignment."

"That was the plan," Edward agreed. "Until last night."

"What happened last night?" Jasper asked willingly.

"I sort of brought the girl back home with me."

A moment passed before Jasper laughed. "Shit," he said. "Now I owe Rosalie fifty bucks."

Edward rolled his eyes. Typical Rose. And typical Jasper, though others might not think it. While softer spoken and more serious than the rest of them, Jasper had a wicked sense of humor when he chose to use it. "She suckered you into a bad bet there, Jazz," he said.

"Oh? How so?"

"She knows too much for her own good. She and Esme somehow managed to get clothes, bathroom stuff, and food for Wisp into my cabin without me noticing."

Jasper snorted. "I have to tell you, Edward, you're not always the most noticing guy." He paused. "Except for with Wisp. You catch everything about her. It's really kind of sweet."

Edward didn't know what to say to that. He didn't feel like he was different with her; he only felt like he wanted to help her. It wasn't difficult at all to know what she felt when she gazed at him with those huge eyes. Hunger, cold, fear, pain, contentment...these were universal, weren't they? Her feelings were an open book. It was her thoughts that remained closed to him, and Edward still had no idea what to do about it.

"I just want her to be okay," he said finally. He'd uttered those words before—how many times, he couldn't say. And, while they were still true, there was more now. She wasn't just a pitiful stranger anymore—not the proverbial princess in need of rescuing. She had her own personality, very clear likes and dislikes, and she was her own person in his mind every bit as much as Rosalie, Emmett, and the rest of them were. This had gone far beyond being a good Samaritan, and Edward accepted that. Carlisle had once mentioned that she was not a part of their family. Well, Edward wasn't so sure about that anymore. Not now.

"I know you do. I hate to think about what might have happened if someone else had found her. Someone not so interested in helping her."

Edward shuddered. "The best outcome would be that fucking hospital," he said tightly.

"And the worst would be someone not so scrupulous about reporting a naked girl who won't fight back," Jasper said softly. Edward winced on the other end of the line. That didn't even bear thinking about. James was bad enough, even behind bars. He glanced at Wisp, who was sprawled on her stomach on the carpet, her head pillowed on her arms. The glare of the shifting sun now made it impossible to tell if she was asleep or still watching him. No, the idea of her passing into the hands of yet another lowlife was unthinkable. Even stretched out, she looked so small. She was swathed in fleece and thick cotton, the sharp lines of her body hidden by cloth, and her back raised and lowered slightly with her gentle breaths. She was so sweet, so guileless, a bundle of raw humanity. So easily damaged, and yet so very strong to have endured whatever James subjected her to.

"Earth to Edward," Jasper called, wry humor tingeing his voice. "I lost you there for a minute. Is she being cute again?"

The corner of Edward's mouth flickered. "You have no idea."

"I see. You mind telling me why you called? I've got a heavy afternoon, but I'm yours for the next ten minutes."

Edward frowned. He probably should have thought about what to say beforehand. "She's terrified to be away from me now," he said, trying to frame the situation and question as succinctly as possible. "I found her crying outside my door in the middle of the night, and she wouldn't go back to sleep without me. Rosalie says to just do whatever makes her comfortable and fuck the consequences, but I'm not so sure that's a long-term solution."

"Oh, god, no," Jasper said quickly. "Definitely not a long-term solution. For a few days or a week it won't hurt, and it certainly will help her feel more secure with you again. Trust takes time to build, and even longer to heal. Right now she needs your reassurance, though eventually you'll have to show her that she's still safe even when you come and go. Separation anxiety is never fun to deal with. I'll take a look at the resource library here at the clinic and let you know later tonight what I find. That sound good?"

"Thanks, Jazz," Edward said, letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He was glad Jasper agreed with him that she shouldn't be pushed right now, and also that Rosalie's words from the night before didn't seem too out of line. Truly, all he wanted to do was hold her tight and let her hide from the world if that was what she wanted, but he worried that he would do permanent harm by indulging in his own wants.

"Relax, Edward," Jasper said in parting. "You're the best thing she has going for her right now. Don't doubt yourself too much."

* * *

Wisp alternately napped, watched Edward, and ate the food he put in front of her for the rest of the afternoon. Edward was a little unnerved by her intense scrutiny, especially since he couldn't ask her what she was thinking. He liked much better when she slept, because her body sorely needed it. That medication must have done a number on her poor system, and her body was so frail and battered anyway, it would take time for her to really feel better.

When Emmett arrived, Rosalie was with him. Wisp was sitting at the coffee table eating sections of orange Edward had peeled for her but, the moment the doorbell rang, she lurched for him.

"It's open!" Edward called, catching her around the waist and pulling her into his lap. She smelled like sweet citrus and her fingers were sticky, but he wouldn't deny her the contact. She needed him, and he wasn't going to fail her again.

Emmett pushed open the door, and when he saw the girl in Edward's lap he threw a slow smirk at Rosalie. "I guess you won your bet."

Rose made a face at him. "You're not seeing any of my cash, buddy. It can start to make up for the fact that you bought me a truck I never even got to see."

"You can see it now," Emmett offered. "It's in impound."

"You don't want to see it," Edward told her quickly. "Trust me."

"Oh, I do trust you," she said. "Did Emmett ever pay you for it?"

Edward blinked. Come to think of it, he hadn't. That had been the least of his worries, and it had utterly slipped his mind since finding the girl. "No," he said slowly, "and I wouldn't take his money if he offered." It was irrational, yes, but if he took Emmett's money now, it would feel at least somewhat like he was selling the girl, since she'd been in that damn truck. He had absolutely no legal claim to her except what Scott allowed, but that didn't matter. He wasn't taking Emmett's money.

"I understand," Rosalie said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet, though he hadn't voiced his reasons out loud. Edward looked at her over Wisp's dark hair. She was solemn, the hand on her scarred arm clenched in a fist. Yes. Yes, perhaps she did understand.

"About that beer..." Emmett glanced toward the kitchen.

"If you can find it, you can have it." Edward smiled reassuringly at Wisp as she tipped her head up to him, her liquid eyes anxious. He wasn't putting her down just for that. "There's also plenty of food," he added, glancing at Rose, who only shrugged. "It seems that _someone_ thinks I'm incapable of grocery shopping."

"With that little girl in tow?" she said. "Yeah, I'm sure that'd go over real well."

"You made him _soup_?" Emmett whined from the kitchen, his voice muffled as he dug through the refrigerator. "How come you never make me soup?"

"I made _her_ soup, you idiot," Rose snapped back. "Edward's inconsequential."

Wisp sucked her lower lip back into her mouth, her face a mask of worry as she listened to the raised voices. Edward tightened his arms around her, hugging her against his chest.

"It's okay," he said. "That's just the way they are. No one's mad, little Wisp. Especially not at you."

She cuddled into his shoulder, ducking her forehead against his neck and hiding in his arms. The brush of her breath on his skin was warm, but she wasn't panting with fear. Edward rubbed her back, immensely proud of her. The first time she'd ever heard Rosalie snap, it had set off anxiety far worse than this. She was either slow from the residual medication in her system, or learning that not all raised voices meant something bad for her.

"If you're going to snitch soup," Rose said, peering around the doorway to the kitchen, "you might as well just heat up the pot and let everybody have some."

"Fine," Emmett said, speaking around a mouthful of something, "but you got to make me some at home sometime. That spicy sausage kind, maybe."

Edward watched as Rosalie returned to the living room. She picked up a forgotten section of orange from the table and offered it to Wisp, who stared at the fruit, then at Edward.

"It's yours, honey," he said encouragingly. "You can take it. Rose won't hurt you; you know that."

Cautiously, the girl reached out. Her hand shook slightly as she accepted the food, and she didn't immediately bite into it.

"You _are_ a scared little thing," Rosalie said. "You're like a little baby bird."

"Did you go to the arraignment?" Edward asked as she settled in a chair.

"No, I stayed at the shop. Decided I couldn't trust myself not to strangle the bastard if I saw him, and I didn't really feel like going to jail today." She shrugged.

"Soup's on!" Emmett hollered.

"Hope you don't mind the same dinner two days in a row." Rosalie stood again, waving Edward to stay where he was. "She seemed to like it."

"Oh, she did," Edward replied.

Wisp confirmed it, too, when a mug was presented to her. She crammed the section of orange in her mouth so she could take the mug, and even Emmett chuckled at her eager, sparkling eyes.

"So," Edward said, anxious to know how the afternoon had gone, "the arraignment?"

Emmett made a face. He had a huge sandwich along with his soup, and he crammed a bite into his mouth before he started talking. "You were right," he said. "The little shit wouldn't talk, even to enter a plea. The court entered a 'not guilty' plea on his behalf since he wouldn't say anything, so it looks like we're gonna hafta go to trial."

This wasn't good news, but it wasn't surprising either. "What counts?"

"Assault and battery, and kidnapping. We pushed hard for a rape charge, but the prosecutor said with no rape kit and a mute victim, there's no way it would have stuck. Sorry, man."

This also wasn't surprising, though Edward had hoped for a better outcome. Realistically, he knew that not performing a rape kit that night had been a conscious decision he and Carlisle had made. She was too fragile and panicked, and the need to warm her dangerously cold body had been greater than the need to collect evidence. Edward only hoped that she could understand, someday, why they had done it.

"What's the longest they could lock him up for on those charges?" Rosalie asked. Her assailant had been on his third strike and had therefore been slapped with life behind bars, but James' rap sheet wasn't nearly so dire.

"He could get life," Emmett mumbled through a mouthful, "but minimums are pretty low. Seven and a half years for kidnapping, for instance. The judge will have a lot of leeway—that is, if the prosecutor can't get the dude to deal."

"Why would you even think about dealing with scum like him?" Rose demanded. Edward concurred. Some people didn't deserve a chance like that. He held the living proof in his arms.

"We need answers, babe." Emmett swallowed and flashed her an understanding look. "I know you want to throw away the key, but we're coming up empty on our own. If James is willing to talk, we'll deal."

Rosalie did not look pleased, and Edward felt the same. But he understood Emmett's predicament, too. They needed to know who this girl was, and what she'd been through. Whether she had a family. Where she belonged. James had the answers they needed, and he clearly wasn't talking without some sort of incentive.

"So we're no further than we were before, really," Edward said, taking Wisp's empty mug and setting it on the coffee table. She did not seem at all interested in leaving his arms, so he drew the throw blanket around her in case she wanted to sleep.

"Well, we have something to bargain with now, since he knows what he's being charged with. It's not a confession, but it's a place to start." Emmett leaned back in his chair with a grunt. "_Man_. Some days, Edward. Some days."

"Yeah," Edward said. He knew exactly what Emmett meant.

They talked lightly for a while, Wisp awake but content in Edward's arms. He could hear the soft gurgle of her digesting stomach every now and then, and the noise was reassuring. Jasper and Alice walked in on them as the sun was going down, Alice again laden with a bag.

"I have a present for you!" she said, kneeling by Edward's side. "Come here, Wisp, and I'll show you. Oh, I'm so glad you're back!" She grinned up at Edward. "I just _knew_ you could do it!"

"Am I the only one who thought I was acting discretely?" Edward asked, glancing meaningfully at Jasper as he passed several bills to Rose.

"Oh, we didn't say anything to Carlisle," Alice said. "Just in case. Come here, sweetie."

"Let her stay where she is if she's happy, Alice," Jasper warned, but Edward needed to use the bathroom, so it was just as well. Alice was a wonderful distraction. He lowered Wisp to the floor, touching her cheek in reassurance when she looked at him anxiously. She hugged the blanket around her shoulders and stayed where she was put, though her eyes followed Edward's form as he retreated to the bathroom.

"I brought you some fun stuff this time," Alice was saying. He could hear her even through the closed door. "Charcoal, colored pencils, some nice paper. I don't know what you like to do—hobbies, you know? But you could try this. Everyone likes art, even if they're no good at it."

Edward doubted the girl had any idea what a hobby was, let alone one she enjoyed, but he held his peace as he reentered the room. Wisp's dark head was bent in fascination over a big piece of paper, and she examined the materials Alice brought her with wide eyes. She sniffed the wooden smell of the pre-sharpened pencils, tracing the pad of her thumb over the colorful lead. Her careful inspection of each and every item was intense.

"I got these for you," Jasper said, motioning to a small stack of books on the floor. "Checked them out of the resource library—just return them when you're done."

"I should have guessed that there were whole books written about separation anxiety," Edward said, poking through the stack. Thankfully they seemed reasonably recent, none of the copyright dates more than six or seven years old. "Thanks, Jazz."

"No problem. I wish I could give you more helpful information out of my own head, but this isn't the sort of thing parents usually ask me about. Constipation and diarrhea—now those are some topics I find myself discussing more than I care to."

Edward snorted. Better Jasper than him.

"I took the liberty of looking through some of the books, though. You've got your work cut out for you, man. A lot of the treatments center around recognizing irrational thoughts and feelings and then working through them—classic cognitive behavioral therapy. I really don't know how that's possible when she's nonverbal."

"She might not talk, but that doesn't mean she can't communicate." Edward glanced at Wisp and Alice, huddled together on the floor. She made her needs and preferences known in unusual ways, perhaps, but she did express them.

"In a limited sense I'm sure you're right," Jasper agreed. "But basic concepts like fear and hunger are easier to deal with than more complex ones. You know she's afraid when you leave her, for instance—we all saw her watching the bathroom door until you came back. But can you turn that around and explain to her that you won't abandon her again?"

Edward had to admit that he could not.

"I mean," Jasper continued, "there's always exposure therapy. In her case, leaving and returning to her until she's desensitized to the process."

"Not right now," Rosalie said firmly. "She's not ready for that kind of emotional trauma—look at her. She doesn't want to be away from him."

Rose's observation was realistic. Wisp was sitting on the floor rather than in Edward's lap, but she was within half an arm's length of his leg and even though she seemed utterly engrossed in Alice's gifts, she glanced up at him every so often as if to check that he was still there.

"I'm not saying it has to be right now," Jasper said in that soothing pediatrician voice. "I'm not saying he has to do it at all. She's not technically my patient, and she's not my responsibility. I'm just saying that these are the methods in the books."

"I'll keep it in mind," Edward said, "but I think Rose is right. She needs more time before we start experimenting like that." He doubted he could stop himself from going to her when she cried, anyway, but that was a separate issue.

"I hate to bring it up," Jasper said slowly, "seeing as our contact with psychologists hasn't been the greatest. But you might consider trying to find one who can work with her. You can interview them, pick and choose the one you want, and the state will pay for their services. Just a thought."

"I've considered it," Edward admitted. "Maybe in a few weeks—I don't know. I'm not ready yet, and I don't think she is, either. She's barely been home a day."

"Home?" Jasper raised a calm eyebrow, but said nothing more once he acknowledged Edward's words.

"Yes, _home_," Alice said vehemently, turning away from the table to glare at her boyfriend. "She belongs here!"

"It was just a comment," Jasper said lightly, though Edward knew what he was saying. Home was a...a permanent sort of concept. It spoke of far more than just a place to sleep. While patients lived for years—sometimes for the rest of their lives—at West Highland, he wouldn't for a moment call the place their home.

Still, he couldn't just chalk it up to a misstatement. He really meant it. Until they could find her family—if they ever did—he wanted Wisp to feel comfortable here, to settle in and really make this place her home. He deliberately pushed thoughts of Seattle out of his head for the moment—Seattle, and the empty condo where he technically lived. The cabin on Carlisle and Esme's property was really only his getaway when he was trying to write, but that didn't matter now. None of it mattered except her.

Jasper and Rosalie bickered lightly about the best course of action—how soon they should try teaching Wisp new things, pushing her gently out of her comfort zone. Emmett looked half asleep in his chair, and Alice played with Wisp's hair as the girl huddled over her piece of paper. It was...surprisingly normal, Edward realized. Pleasant. Wisp's sudden appearance had created a mess of disturbances in all their lives, and yet in moments like this she fit seamlessly with them, carving out her own little niche without even a word.

Rosalie roused Emmett with a series of pokes when it was time to leave. They both worked early in the mornings, as did Jasper, who offered Alice his hand to help her off the floor. Wisp shifted nervously away from his looming figure, abandoning her paper and reaching out a hand to grasp the leg of Edward's jeans. Jasper frowned in concentration, bending further to get a better look at the paper.

"Edward," he said slowly, "your girl can draw."

* * *

_Mwah! Loves you, duckies!_

_P.S. - I'm also not above bribing people to vote for Seattle as the next Twific Meetup city. Just sayin'.  
_


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Thanks to all of you sweet readers/reviewers/etc, and to those of you pimping my little plot bunny. :-) _

_Sometime in the next few days I'm going to scan and post on my Photobucket some of the actual progress reports that foster homes have to fill out; mine are from the early '80s but I still think they're interesting. For those of you wondering about Bella/Wisp's age, there IS such thing as adult foster care, too, so it really doesn't matter as far as the state is concerned. If you want to know her age, it's in the backstory posted on TWCS. Otherwise, you're gonna have to wait and find out with Edward. _

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

"Edward," Jasper said slowly, "your girl can draw."

The detail was amazing. She noticed everything, and her delicate hands clearly had a gift for rendering what she saw. Perspective, shadowing—it was all there. She had even blended two colors of pencil to get just the right shades.

"Someone had to have taught her to do this," Edward said slowly, staring at the drawing.

"Not necessarily. Some gifts arise spontaneously. We can hope, but I wouldn't call it a definitive answer."

Edward glanced askance at his best friend, but he knew Jasper was right. This wasn't proof. They didn't have anything even remotely like proof.

But it was still amazing. She'd drawn the clothes he'd given her the night they first met, tossed in a crumpled heap. The checkered pattern on the pajama pants was perfect. She'd even managed to hint at the waffle texture of the thermal shirt with light strokes of black pencil.

Wisp looked up at him worriedly, gnawing on her lower lip as she picked up the paper and held it toward him. Edward felt his heart swell. Maybe she wasn't talking, but she'd found another way to communicate with him.

"Yes, little Wisp," he said, smiling broadly. He couldn't help the grin. Her gift was wonderful, but the implication for communication was far, far greater. "I know they took those away from you at the hospital. It's okay; I don't care. I wanted _you_ back, not the clothes."

She did not respond to his words. Not knowing any other way to ease her worry, Edward offered her his arms. She dropped the paper and reached for him, hugging him tightly when he picked her up.

"I'm so proud of you," he said, stroking her hair with one hand. She was warm in his arms, swathed in soft clothing. It was beginning to feel like she belonged there, like she'd made herself a little nest of safety next to his heart and his world wasn't right unless she had tucked herself up right there.

"It's amazing that she's even trying to communicate," Jasper mused.

Edward smiled. She had communicated with him from the beginning. Now she just had a new medium.

"I'm buying out a whole art store," Alice announced. "A big specialty one."

For once, nobody argued with her. "I'll give you some money," Edward said, unable to take his eyes off the girl in his arms. Language was still a huge hurdle they had to overcome, but she seemed to have little problem with concepts. She understood that Edward had given her a set of clothes, and that the hospital had taken them away from her. She knew that that wasn't right, and she had done her best to tell him so. "You're smart," Edward told her softly, "I just know it. We'll get you talking, little Wisp. I have faith."

She tucked her head against his neck, and Edward could only hope that the little sigh she exhaled was a happy one. He felt her nuzzle him softly, pushing her little nose against his skin. Her sweetness and innocent trust never ceased to amaze him. She had absolutely no reason to think he would be any kinder to her than James had been, but almost from the very first she had placed herself fully in his care and at his mercy, holding back nothing, come what may. Realistically, she _had _been at his mercy no matter what she tried to do, simply because he was far bigger and stronger and she was voiceless. But she could have tried to fight him. She could have stayed curled up behind the couch, could have slapped at his hands every time he tried to touch her. Instead, she reached her arms out, as if she craved the contact despite the odds.

The sudden flash and warning sound of an iPhone snapping a photo made Edward blink, and he looked reproachfully at Alice.

"I couldn't help myself," she said, not repentant at all. "You get this look on your face when you look at her. It's the sweetest thing I've ever seen."

"Give the man some privacy, Al," Rosalie said. "We're gonna head out, Ed. Call if you need anything."

"I hope I won't have to." Edward stayed where he was on the couch as his friends let themselves out. "You're a wonder, you know," he murmured, stroking Wisp's cheek softly. "An absolute treasure."

She tipped her sleepy face up to peek at him, blinking slowly. Her brown eyes were deep and shadowed in the fading light, though her expression was serene. The hint of a smile touched her full lips.

"So beautiful." The soft words were spoken musingly, as if to himself. "Such a curious little thing."

Edward knew he would have to admit what he'd done to Carlisle at some point. He didn't really think his uncle would fault him for his concern, especially since he had recommended to Dr. Lawton that Wisp be allowed to stay at the cabin. But Carlisle was a stickler for rules, for following protocol. Edward had not handled Wisp's rescue with the sort of decorum Carlisle preferred, and his actions were bound to cause at least a little tension. He could only hope that Carlisle would understand his reasons, and how much he cared about the girl slowly falling asleep in his arms.

She was an enigma, an unbroken cypher, a lock without a key. But it wasn't the mystery that drew him in. It was the warm, living person that she was, the girl who desperately needed help and had chosen for some reason to trust him with her safety. Once that bond had been forged, he was utterly unable to ignore it. He was hers for however long she needed him.

"I'd love it if we could get you to draw some more," he told her, despite the fact that she was probably asleep. Her head was tucked back under his chin, her arms clasped loosely about his waist. "Maybe you can show us a clue—something to help us figure out who you are. Or maybe not, but at least it's another peek inside that intriguing mind of yours."

He let her sleep on him for several hours, curled up in his arms while he searched the Internet on his phone, looking up information about separation anxiety. He wanted to browse through the books Jasper had given him, but he was loath to move her when she looked so peaceful.

She woke later in the evening and consented happily to a bath and a little sandwich made on a crusty dinner roll. Her eyes lit at the first taste of cranberry juice Edward offered her and she rolled the sweet-sharp flavor around in her mouth, savoring its tartness.

"Do you want to draw a little more?" Edward asked, offering Alice's gifts again. "It's only about nine o'clock. I don't know that you want to go to bed just yet."

Her attention was immediately caught by the art supplies and she settled on her cushion on the floor, once again inspecting each colored pencil closely before even attempting to use them. She licked a sherbet-colored pencil experimentally, grimacing at the wooden taste. Edward only chuckled. "I know it looks appetizing," he said, "but unfortunately looks can be deceiving. I'll buy you some real sherbet one of these days; I think you'll like it."

She hadn't actually _disliked_ anything he put in front of her, but Edward considered that immaterial. He picked up his iPhone to plug into the speaker dock, deciding on a playlist of soft classical music while Wisp drew and he started reading Jasper's borrowed books.

As the first notes of one of Rachmaninoff's preludes trickled through the room, Wisp's head snapped up. Her eyes widened, the soft brown a startling contrast to the white sclera as her gaze darted back and forth across the room as if searching for the source of the sound. The pencil in her hand dropped to the carpet and she shifted onto her hands and knees, moving hesitantly toward Edward and the speaker dock, one slow shuffle at a time.

"Hey," Edward said, kneeling down to her level. "What's the matter?"

She ignored him, sitting up on her knees and pressing one ear against the small speaker. Her head turned from side to side as she tested the sound, first in one ear, then the other.

"Yes, that's where it's coming from," Edward said, frowning slightly. "You probably shouldn't get too close to it, though. You don't want to hurt your ears."

Her eyes were wide and wondering, her entire attention focused on the little black rectangle and the sounds it emitted. The tempo picked up, the tone modulating into something a little more intense. Wisp's body shuddered as if the sound blew through her, and her breath began to quicken.

"Shh. Hey, it's okay." Edward reached over and skipped ahead a track. The music shifted into the soothing notes of Chopin and Edward offered her his arms, lifting her as he stood. She wound her legs around his waist, hugging herself against his body as he held her. "This is music," he murmured, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, rocking gently in a dance that echoed his own heartbeat. "And this is what you do with it."

Maybe this wasn't exactly what her social worker had in mind when he turned Wisp over to him. Maybe dancing gently in the semi-darkness, warm lamplight reflected back by the wide expanse of windows, wasn't a typical activity for a caregiver. But in that moment, Edward couldn't care. There was no way to know whether music as a whole was new to her, or just the genre he'd chosen. No way to know if she had ever danced before—ballet classes as a little girl, perhaps, running around a neighborhood studio with friends, all in little pink leotards. Secretly, he hoped those memories existed for her, and they could somehow tease them out of her mind, giving her back to herself. But for now, now in this singular moment, she was quiet and content in his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder, the long wave of her hair glinting in the lamplight. Her body was warm and alive, held safe against his. No one was hurting her. No one was scaring her. She was clean and fed, her bruises slowly healing, the angry red scratches from her own nails slowly fading. And maybe for the first time, maybe not—Edward couldn't say for sure—he felt a sense of peace creep through him when he thought about her future. Maybe they'd find her family and maybe they wouldn't. Maybe she could become a fully functioning member of society and maybe the scars left by James were just far too deep. But he felt sure, one way or another, that she would be okay.

"I'm going to make sure of it," he said, his voice blending with the soft notes of music. He turned his head, resting his lips gently against her smooth hair. It wasn't quite a kiss, he told himself. Everything was fine.

* * *

Edward didn't even try to put her in her own bed that night, and she seemed content enough to curl up on his chest to sleep as long as the majority of her body was not touching the mattress. She slept as quietly and seriously as she did everything else, moving only minimally and making almost no sound. Edward's last girlfriend had been a nocturnal thrasher and he was also a restless sleeper, so he wasn't terribly surprised when he woke up the next morning to find Wisp next to him rather than on top. He must have moved at some point during the night, spilling her off his chest and onto the mattress.

She slept deeply, her body curled against his under the blankets, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Somehow as they slept she'd managed to wedge herself between his torso and arm, and his hand settled on her hip as he stretched slowly and then pulled her closer. She needed her sleep, and he wasn't going to move her until she woke on her own. Maybe waking up on the mattress and seeing that he wasn't mad at her would make her less frightened?

Blearily, Edward made a mental list of things he had to do today. It wasn't long, but they were important. Scott had said he needed to get certified with the state as a foster home, and the first step was signing up for an online training course. After that came a house visit by a social worker, the paperwork for which Scott had already signed since he'd been to the cabin before. Then came a much more rigorous in-person training session. Usually this happened in a group setting every month or so, but Scott said he'd arrange for one of their instructors to come to Edward's house since leaving Wisp alone was not a good idea. He hoped to get the online session done today, so he could prove to Scott that he was holding up his end of the deal. The books from Jasper still needed to be read, and a clearer plan for Wisp's time with him wouldn't be a bad idea either. While part of him was perfectly content to let her sleep, snack, and draw if that's what made her happy, another part of him understood that Scott expected some progress if she was to stay. If possible, he also intended to hound Emmett on the phone to see if they'd made any progress yet with James now that he knew the charges against him.

"We should probably man up and tell Carlisle that you're back, too, huh?" he said, brushing his fingertips down her warm cheek. Her face actually had a little bit of healthy color to it while she slept wrapped in warm pajamas and blankets.

She shifted against him, snuggling deeper against his side, and her eyelashes flickered as her eyes blinked open. Edward tightened his arms around her, hoping to stave off any fright when she realized she was on the bed rather than his chest.

"Hi," he said and, without thinking, moved to brush his lips across her forehead.

Her eyes blinked rapidly, and she raised a hand to touch the spot on her now-puckered forehead where he'd kissed.

Edward immediately regretted the action. It had been an accident, an unthinking reaction to waking up with someone else in his bed. She _wasn't_ his girlfriend, he had to remind himself. She was his…ward? The word seemed oddly formal, especially for this relationship that was anything but.

The flickering hesitation in her eyes did not recede, but after a moment she propped herself up slightly, leaning over and attempting to copy the gesture with a kiss on his forehead. It was an odd touch, and not entirely successful. Edward had never before really thought about how many little things made up a kiss—the right amount of suction to make the correct noise, the perfect pucker of lips to create just a hint of adhesion for a split second. It was the sort of action people did countless times a day without thought, but her attempt made it clear that it was a learned behavior more complicated than it seemed. He couldn't do anything but smile at the hopeful expression on her face, though, as she pulled away.

"Yes, little Wisp," he said, rubbing her nose once with his. "It's called a kiss. You'll get the hang of it." An idea popped into his head, and his smile broadened. "And I think I know a harmless way you can get plenty of practice." He'd need Alice's help, but he severely doubted that she'd mind.

Wisp didn't even seem to notice where she was lying, and Edward took the opportunity to roll them both out of bed before she realized where she was. While she was in the bathroom, he called Alice.

"I'm on it!" Alice squealed when she heard his request. "That is _such_ a great idea! I'll get everything you need—don't worry about a thing!"

Knowing Alice, Edward was pretty sure she'd get far more than he needed, but he was resigned. He couldn't go out himself, and he was grateful that his friends were willing to help him.

Wisp was happy to wash her own face in the morning, but she still balked at the idea of brushing her teeth or hair. Edward refused to push her. Later they could work on her independence, but he was more concerned right now with fostering her sense of security. She hadn't panicked over being on the bed this morning, and he considered that more than enough of a step forward for today.

After breakfast he set her up again at the coffee table, and she seemed more than happy to grab her colored pencils and settle in. Edward found his phone and sat on the couch, smiling to himself when she leaned back against his leg.

Emmett answered with an official-sounding "Lieutenant McCarty."

"Has the bastard talked?" Edward asked with absolutely no preamble.

Emmett let out a long breath. "No 'Hi, Em, how you doing?' No 'Did you sleep well?' I'm hurt, Cullen. _Wounded_."

Edward rolled his eyes. Emmett and Rosalie definitely deserved each other. "I'm serious, Em."

"I can check, but I don't think they tried yet. Pete had an idea about the case, though. I dunno what you're going to think, but I like it."

"Why wouldn't I like it?" Edward asked suspiciously. His hand reached out to brush Wisp's hair, but she was bent over the coffee table, immersed in her drawing and out of reach. If anyone wanted to try something that would hurt or upset her, he wouldn't allow it. Anything else, though, he'd be happy to try. They needed some answers, and they currently weren't getting anywhere.

"Well, see, when I told the boys how great it was that your girl could draw, they got to thinking. And Petey, he said, well, maybe we could get her together with our sketch artist and see if anything comes of it. I told him that you wouldn't bring her down to the station, but our artist's happy to make a house call."

"That," Edward said slowly, "is actually a good idea." He glanced at Wisp again. From this angle he couldn't see what she was drawing, but the idea had merit. They couldn't communicate with her through words, but maybe the police sketch artist could communicate with her through a different medium, one she seemed to understand.

"Really? You're okay with it?" Emmett sounded a little surprised.

"Why wouldn't I be? I want to solve this thing as much as you do."

"Well, she kind of freaks out around strangers. And Garrett—the artist—wants to show her a picture of James to see what she does."

Edward exhaled slowly. Wisp's fear of strange people didn't deter him; she seemed to get over it relatively quickly as long as he was around. But the thought of showing her a photo of James just to see what she would do…

"Ed-ward."

"Holy shit, man! What was that?"

Edward hid a smile as he pulled the phone away from his ear. He hadn't told anyone about her first word, mostly because there was absolutely no proof that she would say it again, or that it would lead to other words. "Yeah?" he said, leaning forward.

She was gnawing on her lower lip again, and she pushed a piece of paper into his hand. Edward looked at it carefully, ignoring the sound of Emmett's voice demanding to know what was going on.

Once again, it was near perfect. Her lines were clean, and she had an innate grasp of perspective. With a very minimalist touch using only stark black lines and some deft shading in brown and ice-blue, she had created the view from her bed inside that damned hospital room. Something about the lines, the thickness of the black strokes, conveyed the absolute terror he knew she had to have felt during her time there, and the hopelessness of someone caught in such an impossible situation. It also proved that she hadn't been sedated the whole time, if she knew what the inside of her room looked like. Edward didn't know what to feel about that.

"I know you were scared there, honey," he said, "but it's okay now. I found you, and you won't ever have to go back there."

As she chewed on her lip and watched him anxiously, Emmett's voice somehow grew louder.

"Edward Cullen! If you don't answer me right now, I swear to god, I will get in a cruiser and come out there!"

Wisp's attention was caught by the device in Edward's hand emitting sound, and she wrinkled her nose perplexedly as she stared at it. He chuckled at her curiosity.

"Yes, _mom_," he told Emmett, still smiling. "What's your problem?"

"Did she just fucking say your name? Am I hearing things? Why aren't you freaking out about this?"

"Because she's said it before." Edward said, tickling Wisp's ear gently. Her anxious look melted away and she smiled back at him—a real smile that revealed her teeth and the faintest trace of a dimple etched onto just one side of her soft cheek.

"She _talked_? And you didn't tell me? You didn't tell anyone?"

"Jesus, Emmett, don't screech. Just my name, that's all she's said."

"But still, that's huge, man!"

"How do you think I was able to talk them into letting her out of the hospital? As far as I'm concerned, she freed herself."

"Shit."

Wisp was watching Edward closely, flicking her eyes back and forth between his face and the phone he held between them. "It's Emmett," he told her, knowing Emmett could hear every word. "You know, the big guy who talks with food in his mouth?"

"I do not!"

"You do, too."

"I'm hanging up on you, dude, so I can call Rosie and tell her. She's gonna be furious that you held out on us, you know."

Edward didn't much care. When Wisp started talking for real, then everyone could get excited. For now, it felt like her single word was something private they could share, just the two of them. "When does your sketch artist want to come over?"

"Whenever you're ready. This afternoon or tomorrow."

"Just say the word. I guess we can't really prepare her, but I'd kind of like it if we weren't both caught off guard. And Alice is coming by this afternoon with a present for her."

"Let's make it tomorrow, then. Did she buy out an entire art store already?"

"No," Edward said, watching as Wisp returned to her pencils, leaving the sketch of her hospital room with him. "I asked her to go to the animal shelter and get Wisp a kitten."

* * *

_A/N: Do you know what the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful videos on the web are? Videos of children with cochlear implants hearing their parents' voices for the first time. Just saying. (No, Wisp is not deaf, we've already established that.) Mwah! Love you, duckies!_


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Hi, lovelies! Who's following me on Twitter? There I tease and beg and bribe other writers for updates, and talk about roller derby, bitch about Chicago being picked as the new Twific Meetup city, and fangirl over luvrofink and darkNnerdy, among others. at judo_lin_

_So, here's the deal. I'm giving you a chapter this weekend because next week my crazy busy schedule starts up again and I don't really know how often updates will be. I'll try for every week, but no promises. I work about 2 - 3 chapters ahead, but those chapters are constantly under revision until I post, so it's not really like being ahead at all._

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

Wisp was asleep when Alice pulled up, and Edward felt sufficiently secure to help unload the car while Wisp napped. He'd moved her onto the couch to see what she would do when she woke. The non-incident this morning on the bed had been encouraging, and he hoped that they had taken a step in the right direction. Getting over her fear of furniture would be just the sort of progress Scott would love to hear; it would definitely make it easier to argue his case that Wisp should stay with him.

"Alice," he said slowly, eying the packed back seat and trunk of her car, "I think this might be overkill. One little kitten can't possibly need this much stuff."

"Hush, you!" Alice flipped him off. "They had all this stuff in the shelter's store, and the proceeds go to a good cause, Edward! All those animals...I almost brought home this shaggy little dog, but I think Jasper would kill me if I didn't talk it over with him first. Oh, he was so cute, though! The lady said he had some schnauzer in him, and he had these adorable little whiskers..."

"Is there even a cat in here?" Edward asked doubtfully as he hefted a bag of litter under one arm, a bag full of cat food cans in the other hand.

"Oh, she's the sweetest little thing; I think Wisp will love her! The volunteer said she's the runt of the litter and could use a little extra TLC. Once I heard that, well, I had to pick her!"

Edward had to smile. Alice was unfailingly kind, and she seemed more than happy to help with Wisp any way she could. He was lucky to have friends willing and able to help him right now—he doubted realistically he'd be able to care for her otherwise.

They brought in several loads' worth of stuff—a scratching post, a cat condo in a box that Edward would have to put together. A bag full of toys—catnip filled mice, little feathery things, brightly-colored balls with bells inside. A litterbox, some cartons of kitten formula that Alice said was "just for a treat." A little pink collar with a bow and a bell. "I didn't get a tag," she explained, "because she doesn't have a name yet. I figured you and Wisp could name her."

And then there was the cat itself, inside a pink plastic carrier.

"I hope Wisp likes her!" Alice stage-whispered.

"It's a kitten," Edward said. "What's not to like?"

"Should we let her out of her carrier before Wisp wakes up?"

"I don't see why not. Let's let her get used to her new home." Edward firmly pushed to the back of his mind the nagging voice trying to tell him that he didn't technically live here, and neither did Wisp. She was in his care for an undetermined period of time and he, technically, lived in Seattle. Bringing a pet home was dangerously close to the sort of nesting behavior that could get him in a lot of trouble if he didn't watch himself. She wasn't his girlfriend. She wasn't his child. She was a ward of the state, and he was caring for her until the police could find her family.

Oblivious to his musing, Alice plopped herself down next to the plastic carrier. She deftly unhooked a couple of latches, and the whole top half popped off.

Inside was the smallest, scruffiest little kitten Edward had ever seen.

It was black, with one white forepaw. Its eyes were grey-blue, and its ears looked far too big for its tiny skull. The miniscule mouth opened as if to meow, but no sound came out.

"Isn't she the cutest thing?" Alice cooed.

Cute wasn't quite the word Edward would have used, but there was a sort of strange, pitiful appeal to the tiny creature. He reached into the open carrier slowly, extending a finger to let the kitten sniff. Instead, it began to lick his finger with the sort of rapt attention Wisp gave any food placed before her.

"Is she hungry?" he asked, watching the kitten doubtfully.

"You could try feeding her and see."

Edward rummaged through the bags littering the floor of his living room until he found one full of tiny cat food cans.

"Here's her dish," Alice said, handing over a shallow yellow ceramic dish emblazoned with blue fishes. "Actually, I got several. In case one of them breaks. Or just because."

Of course she had.

Edward fetched a spoon from the kitchen and peeled open a pop-top lid. The sound made Wisp stir slightly on the couch, but she didn't wake.

Edward put a dollop of the brown mush in the bowl, then set it in the carrier next to the kitten. Immediately a tiny pink tongue began to lap, the little black kitten almost stepping in the dish in its eagerness to reach the food.

"She eats just like Wisp," Alice giggled. "Someday you're going to have two chubby little girls, Edward, and I'm going to be so happy!"

Edward couldn't picture either Wisp or the kitten as anything but scrawny, but he held his peace. It would take quite some time for Wisp to get anywhere near a normal weight, let alone over it.

"She's had all her vaccinations and she doesn't have fleas or anything," Alice said, petting the kitten's little skull with one manicured finger. "They said she's litter-trained in her cage, but in a new environment you might want to lock her in the bathroom at night just to be sure."

They set to work emptying bags and setting up the cat's myriad possessions as quietly as possible. The litterbox and litter went in the bathroom, cat food in the kitchen. Alice had bought the cat a plush little bowl of a bed, which she decided should go next to the couch in the living room. She'd even purchased a little wicker basket in which to keep the cat toys she'd bought.

"Good god, Alice," Edward said, chuckling as he shook his head a little. "A cat does not need its own toybox."

"This is for Wisp," Alice said. "She's going to love spoiling her new little kitty and you know it."

Edward sincerely hoped so.

Wisp woke just as the kitten was finishing its meal, and she frowned as she rubbed her cheek sleepily against the couch cushion. Edward knelt next to her immediately, smoothing a hand down her back and smiling encouragingly at her. "Hi," he said. "Did you enjoy your sleep?"

She whimpered and pushed closer to him fretfully, tipping her body off the couch and into his arms. It wasn't a full-on panic attack and she didn't drop her pants and expect to be beaten, but she made it perfectly clear that she didn't want to be on that couch. Edward didn't know if this morning's acceptance of the bed had just been a fluke—if, sleepy and distracted by his kisses, she'd been unaware of where she was lying—or if the fact that he'd been on the bed with her had anything to do with her change in attitude.

"Okay," he said, touching her cheek. "Okay, little Wisp. I still want you to try for me, but I understand."

Worried brown eyes searched his for a long moment, before she reached up and placed another of her sweet, not-quite kisses on his forehead. Edward couldn't help smiling at the gesture, and he found himself echoing it despite the fact that he didn't know if it was such a good idea.

"That," Alice murmured,"is just about the most adorable thing I have ever seen! Edward, make her do it again. I want a picture."

"No, Alice." Something inside him felt intensely uncomfortable with the idea of anyone, even Alice, witnessing his affection for the girl who had spilled out of a pickup truck and into his life. Dr. Lawton's accusations still haunted him, despite Rosalie and Jasper's assurances that he wasn't a predator. He didn't want to feel like he was taking advantage of her. He didn't want the worry to even be a question. "Besides, I can't _make_ her do anything. And even if I could, I wouldn't."

"Well, then introduce her to her new kitty, Edward, and let me grab my phone."

But before Edward could move, Wisp's eyes landed on the can of cat food on the floor next to his knee and her nose lifted as she caught the strong odor. Her cheeks, pink from sleep, turned ghostly white, and a trembling shudder wracked her body before she burst into tears.

Her cries were gut-wrenching—hysterical, high and piercing. They shook her whole body as she slipped out of Edward's arms and huddled on the ground before him, a little ball of bone and emotion and very little else.

"What happened?" Alice gasped. "Edward, what did we do?"

"Get it out of here," Edward snapped, pulling Wisp back into his arms and holding her tightly against his chest. She didn't fight him, but she was tense, so very tense. Her cries did not abate.

"What? The cat? Oh, Edward, you can't make me take it back!"

"The food, Alice," Edward snapped, clamping his mouth closed before he could say something he'd regret. "She didn't even see the cat."

Alice was up in an instant, whisking away the open can of cat food and the dirty dish.

"Honey," Edward tried, speaking the words against her hair, "honey, what's wrong? What's the matter? I can't help you if you don't give me a clue. _Please_, little Wisp. You have to help me."

"Show her the kitten, Edward," Alice urged, coming back into the living room. "Maybe it will distract her."

"Ed-ward," Wisp keened. It was a broken sound, lost and yearning.

"Omigosh," Alice squealed. "Rose told me that Emmett heard her say your name, but...wow."

"Not the point right now." Edward hugged her tighter. He had no clue why the sight or smell of cat food might have set her off, but it didn't bode well for his gift. If she couldn't handle the cat or its food for whatever reason, the animal couldn't stay.

"Wisp, honey," he crooned, slipping his fingers under her chin, urging her to lift her head, "little one, please. What's wrong? You're safe here—don't you know that? Please at least look at me. Come here."

Edward honestly had no idea what to do. She wasn't fighting him, but she was stiff and unresponsive in his arms, not gripping him back for perhaps the first time he could remember. What on earth had he done? Why had something as benign as cat food set her off? She hadn't even been this loud at the hospital.

"Come on, treasure," he begged. "Just look at me, please."

She didn't resist his hand, letting him tip her face toward him as if she were an easily-manipulated doll. Tears swam in the glinting brown of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks in wet tracks. Her chest heaved with compulsive little hiccuping sobs, and the look of utter devastation on her lovely face made his heart stop.

"Whatever I did, I'm so sorry," he told her, wishing once again that she could understand his words. "You're fine, little Wisp. Nothing has changed."

"Show her the kitten, Edward," Alice hissed.

Edward gathered her little body into the crook of one arm, reaching out with the other to grab the open-topped cat carrier with the other. He pulled it close, then reached inside and carefully picked up the scrawny little kitten, which was trying to wash itself after its meal.

"Look, honey," he said, cradling the creature in his hand. "I had Alice bring you a present. I thought maybe you could use a friend."

She had dropped her head when he released her chin, and Edward held his breath as he carefully maneuvered the tiny animal toward her lap, into her field of vision. He could feel the little pinpricks of miniscule claws on his hand as the creature kneaded.

"Look, please," he pleaded. "If you don't like it, I'll take it back. But I'd like you to at least look at it first."

He could tell immediately when she opened her eyes and saw the animal. Her already-tense body turned to stone in his arms as she froze and the near-hysterical heaving sobs faltered, though they didn't stop.

"It's a kitten," Edward said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "A baby cat. Have you seen a cat, little one? Do you recognize it?"

He lay the little creature in her lap, keeping his hand warily close in case she made a sudden movement. He couldn't believe Wisp would ever purposefully hurt something, but she was a jumpy thing sometimes, and he didn't want an accident to happen that he could prevent.

"She's kind of like you," he said, holding Wisp with one arm and keeping the other hand near the kitten. "We don't know her story, and she needs a good home."

The kitten did not seem at all upset about its change of location. It rubbed the soft fleece of Wisp's pajama pants with its little head, then proceeded to plant its little paws on her leg and blissfully knead.

"It's for you," Edward said. "You can take care of it and love it."

A shudder ran through her, and she looked up at Edward with the most worried eyes he'd seen on her. But her attention couldn't be dragged away from the little creature in her lap for long, and she was quiet as she stared in fascination at the kneading kitten.

"Good girl," Edward murmured as her hiccuping sobs began to fade. "Good girl, you're fine." He reached out and stroked the scruffy little black kitten's back with his fingertips, his hand almost engulfing the small ball of fur. "Look, she's soft. You'll like it." Edward risked a glance up at Alice. He was unsurprised to find that she had her phone out and was almost certainly filming this.

Wisp looked up at him again, then back down at the kitten in her lap. She cocked her head from one side to the other, watching as Edward stroked it.

"Come on," Edward murmured, "you can do it." He caught her hand gently in his and guided her fingers to the fluffy fur.

Wisp's breath caught in her throat, and her fingers twitched. They moved, and she ran one careful fingertip down the tiny back on her own. Immediately the bumblebee buzz of a purr began.

"That means she's happy," Edward said when Wisp flinched. He eased her hand back toward the kitten. "It's a nice sound, don't you think?"

Wisp didn't respond, but after a moment she let two fingers drift across the black fur, then three. After a few minutes, she was stroking the cat with her whole hand, an expression of fascination etched across her face.

Edward let out a deep, shaky breath after a moment, watching Alice lower the phone.

"I guess nothing is ever dull around here," she said.

Edward had to agree. But at least Wisp was calm again, and the cat itself did not seem to frighten her. He didn't want to think about what would happen the next time she saw or smelled the cat food, though.

"I think she likes her kitty," Alice said.

"I think she doesn't know what she thinks yet," Edward corrected. "But she's not afraid of it, at least. That's something."

"Kittens are fun," Alice said, kneeling down beside them. "Watch this." She pulled a toy with a brightly-colored dangly string out of the box and bounced the string in front of the kitten's face.

Immediately it pounced, leaping from Wisp's leg to the carpet, standing on its back paws as it reached up, grasping furiously with its front ones.

Wisp squealed, jerking back into Edward's grasp, tucking herself against his chest as she watched the kitten with wide eyes. He laughed quietly, still shaken by her outburst, and slid both arms around her. "Watch," he encouraged, tucking her head under his chin. "Kittens are funny."

Alice bounced the string above the kitten's head, and the cat's entire body twitched back and forth as it tried to follow the movement. It leaped again, all four feet off the ground, tiny bottlebrush tail poofed out. Edward watched Wisp carefully as her rapt attention remained on the cat leaping and grasping at the string Alice danced in front of it. He couldn't see her face from this position, but he watched as the tense set of her shoulders loosened somewhat.

"What does she look like, Alice?" he asked.

Alice glanced up, the string stilling for a moment. The kitten caught it and immediately looked confused, as if it didn't quite know what to do now.

"She looks...interested? I don't know. She's not scared."

Edward could feel that for himself. He hugged her warm body close, wishing he knew exactly why the sight and smell of that can of cat food had set her off. His mind didn't want to admit the hazy suspicion that grew clearer with each newly discovered facet of her behavior. She did not walk. She was terrified of being punished if she used furniture. Clothes seemed foreign to her, though welcome. She was at home sleeping on the floor, and her vocabulary was limited, right now, to a handful of understood words and one spoken one.

"Maybe she had a cat before and its death was intensely traumatizing?" he mused out loud. In his heart he knew it wasn't the right answer. "Seeing the cat food made her sad?"

"I don't think so, Edward," Alice said, tugging gently on the string as the kitten dug its claws in and tried desperately to hold onto it.

Yeah, Edward didn't think so either. Not really. But the other option was too much to think about at the moment.

When Alice dug a brightly-colored little ball out of the cat's toybox and tossed it across the room, the tiny kitten danced after it, legs tangling in its haste to get the toy. And, for the first time, Edward heard the soft, breathy sound of a laugh trickle from Wisp's throat.

She'd smiled at him a handful of times now, and he didn't know if he'd ever seen something so beautiful. But that laugh absolutely killed him. It was rough and hesitant, as if she'd forgotten how. Or maybe never learned. But it twisted something bright inside him, something hopeful. She could smile. She could laugh. She could speak—one word only right now, but it was one word more than he'd expected out of her the first night they'd met. They had a long way to go, but he chose to look rather at how far she'd already come.

"Here," Alice said, retrieving the ball and placing it in Wisp's hand, "you throw it now." She pantomimed a throwing motion and Wisp obeyed, tossing the toy with an awkward little jerk of her hand. The kitten raced for it, grabbing the ball with its two front legs and falling over, kicking at it furiously with its back legs.

They played for a good half-hour more, Alice happily retrieving toys for Wisp and the kitten to play with, since the girl refused to leave Edward's lap even for her kitten. The cat decided it was done playing abruptly, licked itself several times, and promptly went to sleep. Edward was a little disappointed—not because he so loved watching the kitten's antics, but because little giggles had broken out of Wisp's mouth almost every time the creature pounced, and now that it was asleep she was silent again.

"I think it's safe to say she likes her present," Alice said, dropping the toys back in the little wicker basket and then scooping up the sleeping animal. It shifted in her hands but did not wake. "Do you want to cuddle her now? Kittens are good for that, too."

She held the scruffy little black kitten out to Wisp, who looked at Edward anxiously before hesitantly opening her hands, letting Alice deposit the creature in her grasp.

She cradled the sleeping kitten with reverence, holding it cupped in both hands, bringing the sleeping ball of fur close to her face to examine it. Edward stopped breathing as she rubbed her nose experimentally in the flyaway fur, then nuzzled the little creature softly against her cheek. A slow smile broke across her face, her eyes closing in happiness.

"I don't know what we're going to do about the food," he whispered, "but I can't take that cat away from her now."

"You better not," Alice warned. "Only a heartless bitch like that shrink from the state could even think about doing that. Look—she loves her kitty!"

A knock on the door stirred them from their thoughts, and Edward watched as Alice bounced up to answer it. He wasn't terribly surprised when his uncle's blond head appeared, followed by Esme's worried face. She began to mouth "I'm sorry," at him, but stopped short when she saw the little black puffball held against Wisp's cheek.

"Edward." Carlisle moved slowly into the room. He took in the girl in Edward's arms, the cat accessories littering the carpet, and the tiny kitten Wisp tucked close to her chest protectively when she heard him approach. She watched him, still wary but not nearly as frightened as she had been of him the first night. "Esme mentioned that the girl was back."

Edward settled himself more comfortably on the floor, Wisp in his arms, as his father took a chair. They might as well get this over with now. Good or bad, Carlisle would state his opinion, and then they would all move on. It was one of the things he liked best about growing up with a father figure like Carlisle—he said what he thought, and then let Edward make his own decisions. Edward had appreciated the calm, matter-of-fact approach to parenting when he was younger, and he appreciated it even more now that he was an adult and could have a friendly relationship with his aunt and uncle.

"Edward," Carlisle said slowly, "I just want to know one thing."

"What?"

"Have you thought this through—I mean, really thought this through? I know you want to help her—we all do. I don't want you to think that I don't care about what happens to her. When you called me that night, I had just climbed into bed. I came because you were panicked, but I stayed because she badly needed a doctor's care. I care about all my patients, but some touch the heart more than others. This girl—she's so broken, Edward, but oddly appealing all the same. It's impossible not to care for her. But...I wonder if you've really sat down and thought about what taking on this sort of responsibility will mean for you."

Edward held his tongue. No, to be honest, he _hadn't_. But no matter what Carlisle said, it wouldn't change his mind. He was going to take care of Wisp because he was utterly incapable of turning away from her.

"This is the real world, son, not a fairy tale. Happy endings aren't assured. You have no proof that she's ever going to become a functioning human being, no proof that the police will ever be able to find her family. There isn't even proof that James will open his mouth and start talking. She could never progress beyond what she is now, Edward—an undeniably beautiful girl, but one utterly incapable of taking care of herself." He sighed and leaned back slightly in the chair, running his hand through his hair. "As much as I want her to be okay, you come first, Edward. You're my nephew by blood, but my son by heart. You've worked so hard to get where you are, and I don't want to see you throw it all away just because you happened to be in the right place at the right time to stop a terrible crime of abuse. What about your new book? Your condo in Seattle? You don't live here permanently, remember? You have a life outside this cabin, and I don't want to see you abandon all of that to attempt a Sisyphean task. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Yes, Edward understood. But Carlisle didn't seem to understand that it was out of his hands now. He couldn't back out, couldn't abandon the girl in his arms just because he hadn't expected her. "I appreciate your concern," he said, knowing he sounded a little stiff. "But I've made my choice, and I'm not going to change my mind."

"I didn't think you would," Carlisle said evenly. "I just want you to really think about it. You're not a trained caregiver. You're not even a parent. I agree that it's wonderful she trusts you, and I think you've been amazing with her so far. But I don't see this as a reasonable long-term solution, Edward. My opinion is that you and she would both be far better off if you brought in a third party, a trained caregiver, to watch how you interact and learn what it is you do that she responds to. Then you can transition her out of your care and into that of someone more qualified to meet her needs in the long run."

It made sense—a lot of sense. But Edward couldn't—he just couldn't. She was his responsibility, and he didn't see her as a burden. She was a treasure; his desire to shelter and protect her did not stem from the likelihood that she would get better, though he had faith that she was capable of so much more if they could only find the key to helping her.

"I mean," Carlisle mused, "it would make a little more sense if you were thinking about doing actual research with her. You're a sociologist. There's got to be some government funding—maybe from NIH or NIMH—to work with special cases like this. If you were going to write a grant proposal and consider studying—"

"_No_."

Wisp flinched in Edward's arms, hugging the sleeping ball of her kitten protectively against her chest. She didn't like angry voices, and Edward instantly regretted the firm tone he'd used. He stroked her hair, trying to reassure her through touch that he wasn't upset with her, but with Carlisle's suggestion. "She's not a guinea pig, and I won't treat her like one," he said, carefully schooling his voice. "If I exploited her for the sake of a book, I'd feel just as bad as if I did what Dr. Lawton accused me of. No, Carlisle. Someday, when she's better, if she wants to write her own book, I'll do what I can to help her. But I'm not going to use her like that. It's not right."

Carlisle didn't answer, though Edward could see from his expression that he didn't agree. And why should he? As a thoracic surgeon, he lived on the cutting edge of the medical field. Most of his work was at university hospitals where the patients routinely became part of academic studies and trials. Patients who knew they were otherwise going to die were more than happy to sign up for experimental treatments or surgeries.

But the social sciences didn't work like that. Carlisle might invent a new surgical technique through experimentation that could potentially save millions of lives. But turning Wisp into a lab rat wasn't going to save lives. It might advance some theoretical science, hypothetically—prove or disprove parts of theories about language acquisition, for instance. He could probably wring a handful of papers for peer-reviewed journals out of the short time he'd already spent with her, in fact. But his heart told him it wasn't right. The sick people Carlisle operated on could consent—Wisp could not.

"I don't agree with the decision you're making," Carlisle said, sighing a little. "But you know I won't argue your right to make it. And, for what it's worth, I didn't expect anything less from you, son."

Edward smiled weakly. That was Carlisle, through and through.

"Whose idea was the kitten?" Esme asked, her voice a little hoarse. She and Alice stood shoulder to shoulder as if they'd been leaning on each other through the confrontation. "That's so sweet! I think it's wonderful to give her something she can love and learn to take care of."

Before Edward could answer, the buzz of his phone sounded. He grabbed it off the coffee table and checked the screen—Emmett. He held up a finger to ask Esme to wait a moment, and answered the call.

"Glad I caught you." Emmett sounded breathless. "James has agreed to deal."

* * *

_A/N: See you on Thursday (I hope!)_


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Poor luvrofink is having computer problems, so I thought I'd post a day early as a little bit of a consolation._

_Also, Wisp is up for Fic of the Week at The Lemonade Stand (again, cuz we didn't even come close to winning last time, lol!). You should go vote! Tehlemonadestand dot net._

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

"I want to hear what he has to say before you agree to anything."

Wisp's huge brown eyes were watching him worriedly, her lower lip firmly wedged between her teeth, her hands cupped around her kitten with a careful grasp, as if she were afraid of hurting the little creature. Edward tucked his phone between his shoulder and his ear, and slid his free hand against her cheek. The urge to kiss her forehead again was strong, but he refrained. Carlisle definitely wouldn't be pleased if he saw something that unprofessional. She didn't like tense voices, and she _definitely_ didn't like Edward's tense voice. He hated frightening her, but he didn't think it was possible to talk about James while staying utterly calm. Pretending to be calm when he was face-to-face with the man was hard enough, but now Wisp's physical safety wasn't in question.

She pushed her head against his shoulder, sighing softly, and Edward held her there, trying to at least feel soothing if he couldn't sound it.

"Edward," Emmett said slowly, "even I don't have any control over that. The prosecutor makes the call, not us."

Edward's mouth set in a firm line. That definitely wasn't the answer he wanted to hear. "I don't want him getting off scott-free just because he's done having a temper tantrum, god damn it! What if he comes after her?"

"Ed, the dude had a girl captive in the back of a pickup truck. He's not getting off like that, even if he handed over her fucking birth certificate. The prosecutor will want him to plead guilty and provide information in exchange for sentencing leniency. How much he gives us, information-wise, will decide how generous the prosecutor decides to be."

"Edward, honey, you're scaring her," Esme said softly, kneeling next to them. "Why don't you try giving her here? Alice and I can watch her while you step outside to finish your call."

But when Edward attempted to shift Wisp's soft body away from him, she squealed unhappily and grabbed his shirt in one desperate fist, clutching her kitten to her chest with her other hand.

"Thanks for trying," he said, shooting Esme a commiserating look. "She's still not happy about me leaving her; I think she thinks I might abandon her again."

"Yes, Jasper said he dropped off some books about separation anxiety." Esme touched the girl's arm gently. Wisp didn't flinch away, but she obviously had no intention of leaving Edward's lap unless he made her.

"Em," he pleaded into the phone, "I _need_ to know what's going on. The prosecutor's never met her. Maybe you showed him pictures or whatever, but he doesn't know what it's like to be around her. He wasn't there when we pulled her out of that fucking truck. I don't want him to agree to something that's not acceptable."

"You gotta trust other people to do their jobs, man. I investigate. The prosecutor handles James. You take care of your little girl. It's called teamwork."

Edward knew that. He did. But he didn't want a stranger deciding something that could hugely impact Wisp's future without even meeting her. A prosecutor's first priority was to win his case. Edward's first priority was Wisp.

"Look..." Edward could almost picture Emmett scratching his head. "I can probably get you in to observe the interview, seeing as you're her guardian and all. But you don't want to leave her, and I don't think you want her down at the station, either."

"God, no." No, Edward definitely didn't want that. She went ballistic when she heard James' name; he shuddered to think what she might do if she saw him again. He wasn't looking forward to the sketch artist pushing her, either. Maybe if James talked enough, they wouldn't have to push her like that? "It's the 21st century. Couldn't you, I don't know, set up a video feed so I can watch from here?"

"I'm not sure that's legal," Emmett said. "Besides, she'd still see him on the screen. You can't guarantee that she'll be napping."

That was true. Edward wanted to pull at his hair in frustration, but both his hands were currently soothing the worried girl in his lap. His neck was beginning to ache from being at that odd angle, too. If he wasn't so afraid that Emmett would say James' name and set her off, he would have turned the volume up and set the phone on his knee so everyone could hear.

"Sorry, but I think this is the best I can do," Emmett said, and there was real regret in his voice. "I'll bring you a video copy of the interview, get it to you asap. Then you can watch it after she goes to sleep. Sound fair?"

It wasn't what Edward wanted. By the time he watched the footage, the interview would be over and done with. The prosecutor would have agreed to...whatever it was he'd agree to. There would be no way to go back and change things. But, Edward had to keep telling himself, Emmett was right. He wasn't a lawyer. He wasn't a police officer. He was a sociologist, and Wisp's caretaker. Like it or not, other people would have to be involved in the case, her care, and her life. He couldn't do this on his own, even if he wanted to.

"Yeah," he said finally, hugging the girl's warm body close to him. She was still chewing on her lower lip and he was a little afraid that she might make herself bleed again, but he didn't dare try to stop her. Not when she was obviously so upset. "Right away—you swear?"

"Swear to god," Emmett said. "Prosecutor's on his way to county lockup right now to talk to him. I'll get you video before tonight."

And that was going to have to be good enough. Edward ended the call and dropped the phone to the floor, rubbing Wisp's back slowly. She peered up at him with those huge dark eyes that nearly killed him every time he saw them, and he didn't find it hard at all to smile at her even though his insides were in turmoil. He had to trust that Emmett and the prosecutor knew what they were doing, even though he honestly trusted virtually no one when it came to Wisp's comfort and safety. As much as she didn't want to be away from him, he didn't want to be away from her, either.

"It'll be okay," he told her, dipping his head to rub his nose against hers. It wasn't a kiss, so he hoped Carlisle would overlook it. He only hoped that he was telling her the truth. "I won't let anything else happen to you."

"I think we caught the gist of that call," Carlisle said, leaning forward in his chair. "The bastard's decided to deal?"

"Yeah." Edward blew out a breath. "I don't know whether to be happy or not. I'm afraid that the prosecutor will be too soft, and he won't get the kind of time behind bars that he deserves."

"He deserves the electric chair for what he did," Alice muttered.

"I don't know if the state of Washington uses the electric chair," Edward said. The sociology surrounding death, and the death penalty in particular, hadn't been of interest to him when he was in school. "I have to agree with the sentiment, though." When James came to the cabin, Edward's goal had been to keep him from finding Wisp. Now, all bets were off. That fucker didn't deserve a deal. He didn't deserve _anything_.

"But it'll be a relief to get some new information about her, don't you think?" Esme said. That was pure Esme—always trying to find a bright side. "Maybe we can find out her name, or how old she is."

Yes, those would definitely be nice things to know. Edward thought he'd feel much better if he knew for sure that the girl sleeping on top of him at night was at least over the age of consent. He had absolutely no plans to touch her like that, but still.

"Think how happy she'd be if we could call her by her real name." Esme smiled at the girl slowly calming down in Edward's arms.

"Unless she associates it with that jackass," Edward said darkly. Part of him was eager to know her real name and part of him would, he had to admit, miss being able to call her his little Wisp.

"If she does," Esme said firmly, "then it's time for her to make some new associations. He isn't part of her life anymore, and neither are the things she expected from him."

This was definitely one of those times when Edward _knew_ Esme was the best mother in the world.

A flutter of movement distracted him from what he was about to say, and Edward caught the tail end of a little wiggle as the kitten, awake once again, wiggled out of Wisp's grasp and leaped to the floor.

"Ow!"

Both Esme and Carlisle's eyes went wide.

Was that a word? Edward wasn't sure. It definitely had been a real, actual _ow_, not just a squeal or whimper, which was how she usually communicated. She held up her right hand, a little sliver of blood running from a small scratch in her index finger.

"Yeah, ow," he agreed solemnly. "Kittens have sharp claws and teeth that you have to watch out for, little Wisp. It's okay—you'll be fine."

Alice was gone and back in a flash with a damp washcloth, a tube of Neosporin, and a Band-Aid. Edward applied each in order, Wisp watching with interest as he wiped the blood away, smoothed a little antibacterial goo against the scratch, and wrapped her finger with the bandage.

"Ow," she said again, this time much more a word and less an exclamation as she held her hand out towards him.

Edward couldn't help it. He smiled and kissed the Band-Aid wrapped around her finger. "Yeah," he repeated. "She likes you, but she doesn't understand that her claws can hurt. You have to be careful."

"Edward," Carlisle said slowly, "just when did she start talking?"

Edward relinquished his hold on Wisp as she moved slowly out of his arms, following her kitten across the floor toward the abandoned jingly ball. "I'm not sure I'd call it talking, exactly," he hedged, "which is why I didn't say anything."

"She says his name!" Alice squealed. "Emmett heard it, and so did I."

Carlisle's gaze turned intrigued. "Does she?"

"But nothing else until just now," Edward said, watching Wisp carefully as she sat a few feet away from him and threw the ball for the kitten. "I'm not willing yet to say definitively that she's not just mimicking."

"I'm not an expert in biological linguistics, nor am I a speech pathologist," Carlisle said, watching Wisp with a little more interest now, "but I think the 'w' and 'r' sounds can be fairly difficult and take some practice to master. Does she say them correctly?"

"Yeah," Alice said before Edward could answer. "It's kind of broken, like two words instead of two syllables, but it's clear. Can you make her say it again, Edward?"

Edward wanted to scowl. "No, Alice." He wouldn't even know how to go about doing it, but more than that, he didn't want to. She wasn't a parrot or a trained seal, and he refused to treat her like one.

"I'd love to hear it at some point, if you can get it on video," Carlisle said. "Maybe an expert could be able to tell you more"

Edward had been considering the same thing, but he wasn't terribly keen on following her around with a video camera until she said it again. It seemed pretty invasive, and Alice was bad enough.

Wisp's soft giggle rang through the room, and Edward couldn't help but smile when he saw her wiggle the string toy Alice had played with earlier, sending the kitten into hysterics.

"She's definitely a fetching creature," Carlisle said, smiling too.

But she was more than that to Edward. She wasn't just a pretty thing in need of care, like a pet. She had a distinct personality and a raw sort of humanity to her that wouldn't let him think of her that way despite her odd behaviors and predilection for cuddling.

They talked a little more, watching Wisp play with the kitten. Carlisle said nothing about the cat's appearance and whether he thought it was a good idea or not, for which Edward was glad. Carlisle's worries were all well-founded, but he'd had enough of them for one night.

Finally Alice said she had to go—Jasper would be home soon and she'd promised him a home-cooked meal for once. Edward chose not to give her a snarky reply, though he knew all too well that Alice, despite her many other talents, was no cook. After she left he described Wisp's meltdown to Carlisle and Esme, a little worried about what would happen the next time he had to feed the cat. It would be impossible to hide the cat food from her forever.

"Just take it slow," Esme suggested, "whatever you do. She's so scared, Edward, but she trusts you. It really is a beautiful thing."

Edward knew that, but as his parents said goodbye and left him alone with Wisp once again, he wasn't at all sure that 'taking it slow' would fix this problem. She had been abused, horribly abused, and he didn't know for how long. Long enough that things like language had been lost to her, if she ever had them to begin with. The healing process absolutely couldn't be rushed. And, though her fear of separation still bothered him, he was beginning to think that keeping her happy and content was more important than fostering independence at the moment. She was hurt, and if he was at all comforting to her, that made him happy.

He tossed Esme's frozen chicken and dumpling casserole in the oven for dinner, setting a timer so he didn't forget about it. Wisp was still on the floor, investigating the contents of the kitten's toybox as her new pet nearly vibrated with excitement, sitting by her knee and waiting for each new fascinating thing to emerge.

Watching them together was really too much fun, Edward decided. She loved her cat, and he was incredibly happy to see her enjoying something so thoroughly. The art supplies were nice and he couldn't wait to see what she created once Alice brought her more, but the cat was different. This was something she could love, a little creature she could give her heart to with absolutely no fear or regret. It was something smaller and needier than she was, something she could learn to care for. He hoped that would help her feel better and more secure, more like an actual human being, though he supposed it was impossible to really know how she saw herself at this point.

Emmett—with perfect timing, as usual—arrived just as Edward was pulling dinner out of the oven.

"Trade," he sang, shoving a little flash drive into Edward's hand and grabbing the plate Edward had been dishing up.

Edward stared at the data stick. There were answers here, answers he had craved since finding the girl unconscious in the back of James' truck. Now that he had them, though, he didn't know if he was ready. What if James didn't have the information they wanted? Or what if the truth was far worse than anything he'd imagined? What if James' answers confirmed that Wisp couldn't be helped and would always be just like this, as Carlisle feared?

"Don't watch that until she's asleep," Emmett reminded him, talking with his mouth full. He shoveled a bite of green salad in, even though he hadn't swallowed yet. "God, even on video I want to kill the little fucker."

Edward grimaced and pocketed the drive. No, he definitely wasn't watching it until Wisp fell asleep.

Instead, he dished up a small portion of creamy casserole for her, adding a little bit of salad and giving her a glass of the cranberry juice she'd decided she loved. Her portions were getting slightly bigger now, and she still seemed to be doing fine. He hoped in another week or so she'd be able to eat something approximating a healthy number of calories.

The kitchen table hadn't been used since Wisp came to him, but Edward didn't much care. She was comfortable on a cushion on the floor, and she seemed happy to eat from the coffee table, so he saw no reason to push her. He took her food to her, then returned to dish up his own, happy that Esme always made plenty. Emmett was already scooping seconds onto his plate.

"Can you tell me anything, at least?" he asked. "What did the prosecutor offer him?"

"I told you, it was based on the quality of his information. And—hey, that's a funny face she's making."

Edward looked carefully at Wisp. Yes, she was making a strange face. Her nose was slightly wrinkled, her eyes squinted as she slowly chewed whatever was in her mouth.

"I...don't think she likes it," he said slowly. That was a first. She devoured everything he put in front of her, and seemed to savor every bite. "Do you know what she just took a bite of?"

She swallowed with a little grimace and grabbed for her juice, gulping it quickly.

"Dunno," Emmett said with a shrug. "I never met anyone who didn't like Esme's cooking. Maybe there was a bug in her salad."

Edward watched as Wisp picked up a piece of lettuce in her fingers, looking at it without enthusiasm before slowly putting it in her mouth. Again, the funny squinted look washed over her face.

"I bet it's the dressing," Emmett said as she reached for her juice again. "Rosie's nephew hates vinegar—the kid won't even come to the table if he so much as smells it."

Edward hadn't even thought about it, but it made sense. They'd been feeding her so much bland food, and it stood to reason that something so strong might not be appealing to her. Quickly he went to the kitchen, dished up a little bowl of dry salad without the dressing, and brought it to her. He scraped the rest of her dressed salad onto his own plate, kissed her forehead gently, and set the new salad next to her.

The smile that broke across her face when she tried a shred of plain carrot was beautifully bright.

"Check," Edward said, settling back on the couch. "No more vinegar. I'm actually kind of glad we found something she doesn't like." Besides cat food, he amended silently.

"I guess it means she has opinions, huh?"

"Something like that."

Wisp happily ate the dry salad with her fingers and did the best she could with a spoon and the casserole. She seemed to like radishes and cucumber particularly, poking through the other vegetables to find them first.

"So...the interview?" Edward reminded Emmett. Wisp would probably nap in the living room for a while after dinner and he could watch it then, but he was too impatient not to hound Emmett for information.

Emmett grimaced around a mouthful of chicken. "Fucker," he said. "I can't say he gave us jack shit, but he didn't give us much. The prosecutor rescinded the plea deal because his information just wasn't good enough for what he wanted out of us. Oh, you'll be happy to hear that she's not a minor, though."

"How old is she?" Edward asked tightly. Part of him was frustrated beyond belief that James hadn't given up more information, but another part of him was just happy that the little shit hadn't got his plea deal after all.

"Twenty, according to him."

"What's her name?"

"You'll have to watch the interview, see what he says," Emmett said, shaking his head. "He didn't make a whole lot of sense, but it sounds like there's more people involved than just him."

The darkness in Emmett's tone matched the sinking feeling in Edward's gut. Part of him had suspected that James wasn't smart or patient enough to have done this all on his own, but that led to a whole mess of new problems. One or more accomplices were still out there, and from Emmett's frustrated tone it sounded like James hadn't narked on them.

But still. They had an age. Edward looked at the girl sitting quietly on a cushion at the coffee table. She swiped a finger in the creamy chicken sauce and offered it to the kitten purring on her knee. He didn't have it in him to scold her for feeding the cat at the table—not that she would understand, anyway. The kitten's miniscule pink tongue licked furiously at Wisp's fingertip, eliciting another giggle from the girl.

Twenty. Twenty was young, but it wasn't as bad as sixteen or seventeen. Age-wise, she was an adult. Realistically it didn't change anything, but Edward felt a little better nonetheless. He wasn't bathing and sleeping with an underage girl, though he understood that this didn't automatically absolve him from the kind of suspicion Dr. Lawton had had for him. She was still utterly unable to consent to anything that happened in her life. That had not changed. Knowing her age really didn't solve any problems, though he still felt a twinge of relief.

"I wish we had better news for you, man," Emmett said. "He was our best chance at getting a good lead. Tomorrow we're gonna sift through everything he said real carefully, see if we can figure out the next step. I guess it's always possible he'll change his mind and give us more if he really wants that deal, but no luck so far."

Edward nodded slowly, listening halfheartedly as Emmett rambled a little more. He rinsed off his plate before leaving, and Edward knew without asking that he'd go home to Rosalie and eat another dinner quite happily, even though he'd already had one here.

Wisp was curled up on the floor with her kitten when Edward returned from putting the food away and cleaning up the kitchen. The cat really needed a name. It was sweet that Alice thought they should name it, but realistically Wisp was far from being capable of something like that. Maybe he should just pick a random name from an Internet list or something? He wasn't good with this sort of creative task.

Once she was clearly sleeping, Edward fetched his laptop, booted it up, and inserted the flash drive. He was eager to hear what James had to say despite Emmett's unenthusiastic response to the interview. He plugged in a pair of earbuds just in case Wisp wasn't quite asleep, loath to frighten her with the sound of James' voice.

The audio and video quality were much better than he'd been prepared for, but then, he'd been prepared for security-video quality, so that wasn't saying much. There was James, the little shithead, in a prison jumpsuit, in a white interrogation room. A nondescript man with a briefcase and a tablet computer stepped into the room, followed by a guard.

"James Newton?"

James ignored the question. "What sort of deal are you offering me?" he demanded. His voice was tight, his long, pale hair messy and uncombed.

"That depends on what sort of information _you're_ offering _me_," the man, obviously the prosecutor, said.

"I'm not playing your fucking mind games," James hissed. "You tell me now, or I'm not saying a goddamned word."

The prosecutor shrugged. "I've got more than enough evidence to convict you, Mr. Newton. I'm here as a courtesy; I don't _have_ to offer you anything. I don't need you to plead out."

James dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, slumping over the table. "He'll kill me," he said. "You don't fucking understand—he'll rip me apart!"

"Who will?" the prosecutor said. "Who are you protecting? Do you have an accomplice? Is there someone else we should be looking for?"

James barked out a laugh that was anything but humorous. "You don't know jack shit."

"And we won't unless you want to tell us." The prosecutor folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. His posture said it all—he was calm and collected, fully in control of this meeting. Edward began to have a little respect for the man. "If you're interested in a deal, you'd better start talking. We want to know who the girl is, where she came from, and how you got her."

James was shaking his head, his hands still hiding his face. "I can't," he muttered. "I can't."

"Then we can't deal."

"I don't deserve to be locked up for this!" James yelled from his hunched position. "I didn't fucking do anything wrong!"

"That's bullshit, and you know it," the prosecutor deadpanned. "Who is she, Mr. Newton?"

"She's just a girl!" James' voice was raised, but whether in anger or just plain frustration, Edward couldn't say. "She's just a fucking girl! Who the fuck cares who she is?"

"We do," the prosecutor said. "Her family does, I'm sure. Wouldn't you care if a member of your family went missing? If you never knew what happened to her?"

"I don't have a fucking family, and neither does she," James said flatly.

Edward held his breath. It wasn't much, but it was perhaps the first real information James had given them. No family?

"You have a cousin. Michael, isn't it? He took you in, he says. Gave you a place to stay when you showed up at his house. That's what family does. Give her family the chance to do the same, Mr. Newton."

"If they ever wanted her," James muttered, "they sure as hell don't now."

Edward just barely resisted punching his computer. How could anyone not want that sweet girl? She wasn't a bother. She wasn't anything but a lonely girl in search of where she belonged. How could James deny her that?

"Let's just start with something small," the prosecutor said, ignoring James' outburst. "How old is she, Mr. Newton? Can you tell me that?"

"Twenty," James said, the word falling from his mouth as if it hardly mattered. "She's twenty. I don't see why you care—you wanna take her out for a beer or something?" He snickered.

"Why doesn't she talk?"

"Because bitches should keep their fucking mouths shut!"

Edward wondered if his computer was going to get through this interview in one piece.

"Why doesn't she walk?"

"Why should she? She have somewhere important to be?" James leaned back and slouched in his chair. "Are you gonna try to make her? You'll mess up years of hard work. You'll be ruining a fucking piece of _art_."

"Did you create the, uh, art?" the prosecutor immediately asked.

James narrowed his eyes. "I told you, I'm not talking. He'll kill me. Look, I want a deal, but not if it means getting skinned alive once I'm out. She's twenty years old. She doesn't have a fucking name. Maybe someone's looking for her and maybe they aren't, but they sure as hell aren't her family. If she ever had one of those, she doesn't anymore. Now, is that enough to deal or not?"

"No," the prosecutor said, gathering up his things, "it isn't. When you're ready to give me some real information, then we'll talk. Until then..."

Edward shut the computer and pulled the buds out of his ears. He watched Wisp's side move as she breathed evenly, her kitten playing idly with the ends of her long hair. According to James, she was twenty years old, had no name, and no family.

But these were things she had to have had once. He was determined to find out who had taken them from her, if it wasn't James.

And if it was, that bastard was never going to walk free again.

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_A/N: The response to my little plot bunny has absolutely blown me away. I kinda love you guys. :) I'm working on responding to reviews over the next couple of days - remember, if you review anonymously, I can't respond to you! See you next Thursday!_


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: I'm updating early because I had a terrible commute home today and updating makes me feel better! Also because this one's a little short, so I felt kinda bad. But that's where it needed to be left._

_For those of you who wanted to know why she couldn't have a puppy instead, the answer is in this chapter. ;-)_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

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**Wisp**

Edward took the opportunity to feed Wisp's new pet while she slept, then quickly washed the cat's food dish, eliminating the fishy smell. "We're going to have to figure out what to do about your food on a regular basis," he told the kitten as it washed itself. "I can't take you away from her now that she likes you, but we can't have her going crazy every time you eat, either."

The kitten ignored him, looking up only long enough to eye Edward's shoelace as a possible threat to be attacked before continuing its bath.

"I know there's such a thing as animal therapy, but I have no idea what it entails." He picked up the tiny creature, holding it at eye level and staring at the furry, innocent face. "What do you think—do you think you could be a therapy animal?"

The cat yawned, unfurling a tiny pink tongue, then went back to washing as Edward held it.

"Look at me. I've been living with a girl who doesn't speak for only a couple of days, and I'm already talking to animals." He put the cat down to finish its bath, then returned to the living room.

Wisp slept peacefully on the floor next to the coffee table, curled on her side in a little ball. Her hair fanned out behind her, mussed from the kitten's play, and Edward felt one side of his mouth curl upwards even though he didn't feel particularly cheerful. He'd taken classes in women's studies as part of his degree—usually one of only a few men in the class, the female students either fawning over him for his "enlightened" viewpoints or quietly hostile at a male invasion of their department. He wasn't stupid, and he knew that the appalling sort of disregard James had for the girl currently sleeping in his living room wasn't all that uncommon. But to hear it spat at such a defenseless victim, one whose mind and emotions were so dear to him—was a new experience. It wasn't just mindless chatter this time but a direct attack on the girl's humanity, which was something he couldn't deal with.

"He's never going to touch you again, little one," Edward murmured, folding himself to the carpet beside her. One of her hands curled softly near her face and he traced a light fingertip across the graceful curve. His hands weren't big and meaty like Emmett's but, even so, hers seemed so small, so fragile, just like the rest of her. "If he ever gets out from behind bars, he'd better get the hell out of the state. I'm not particularly prone to violent outbursts, but in his case I'll make an exception."

She shifted a little, her throat constricting as she swallowed in her sleep.

"I can't picture you holding it against me, but for what it's worth, I feel so guilty that you sat in that truck all night while we played cards. We didn't know you were there, I swear, or we'd have got you out sooner. Maybe locked _him_ up in there for a week or two to see how he liked it."

Her eyelashes were thick, and they looked so soft as they fluttered against the backdrop of her porcelain skin. Most of her bruising had faded during the two weeks she'd been away, leaving marks around her wrists and ankles where she'd been restrained, and some lingering color on her ass. Her face was perfect, not a flaw on her except the swollen, red spot on her lip where she'd bitten through the flesh and drawn blood. It would probably heal in a few more days and she'd be just fine.

Well, almost.

"I don't think you're going to like it," Edward said, tracing his finger lightly down to the curved palm of her hand, "and I _know_ I'm not, but we have to get you to the clinic soon to see about your knees. I think we'll let Jasper try first—you seem calmer around him than Carlisle. You might be a little older than his usual patients, but I don't think he'll mind." He traced the edge of her long sleeve, finding the bony protuberance of her wrist. "I don't want to make you try to walk until we know your knees aren't too badly damaged. Carlisle says they have to hurt, and I'm sorry for that. I think maybe they wouldn't be so bad if you didn't kneel and crawl all the time. It really makes me uncomfortable, too, though I don't mind carrying you. I'd still do it if you wanted, I'd just really like to know that you can walk."

She moved, stretching slowly before shifting onto her belly and burying her face in the carpet with a voiced little exhalation. Edward chuckled.

"Am I disturbing your nap? I'd actually kind of like you to wake up soon. You can have more to eat and a soak in the tub if you want. I just don't want you awake all night because I let you sleep too long now." It hadn't been a problem so far, though. She slept quite a bit during the day, and Edward was happy to let her as long as it didn't interfere with either of their nighttime schedules.

Everything about her was perfect—the rich color of her hair, the full curve of her lip, the exquisite texture of her skin. It was like she'd been _made_ to attract men, created for the sole purpose of looking lovely and eliciting the desire to _have_, to _own_. What made it so surreal was the utter guilelessness of her. Her beauty wasn't a mask she wore, wasn't meticulously crafted with powder and brushes like Alice or Rosalie's. It was like an accident—purely unintentional on her part and, therefore, almost...troubling.

No, not almost, Edward decided. It was very troubling. She was like the perfect wildflower found on a hike, or the glimpse of a deer in the woods, skittish and fey. It stirred the very human and very male urge to touch that beauty, to take and possess it.

And Edward had the sickening suspicion that someone had, indeed, done so.

Could it really be true that no one with honorable intentions was looking for her—a father, a mother, a sibling? He didn't want to believe it. But, then, there were many things in the world that he didn't want to acknowledge. Humanity wasn't always a happy word, and the dark side of it was black indeed. People were capable of immense cruelty and little remorse, and Edward was afraid he'd stumbled upon just such a case.

"You're so sweet," he told the sleeping girl in front of him. "But, unfortunately, I can imagine plenty of scenarios where you end up just like this."

She moved again, her body slowly uncurling, her eyes blinking sleepily, shifting until they landed on him. Her small smile when she saw him was gentle and full of a blissful sort of trust.

"You are going to be just fine," Edward said, voice quiet as he smoothed her tousled hair back. "Just fine."

She didn't acknowledge his words, shifting to rub her nose against his bent knee before getting to her hands and knees and casting a yearning glance toward the bathroom.

"You can go," Edward assured her, giving her a little nudge toward the hallway. "You're fine, little one. You don't need permission."

He still hated to see her crawl, but he tolerated it for the time being, not knowing what else to do. She disappeared through the doorway, leaving the door open.

Edward couldn't see her from this angle, but he began to climb to his feet anyway, prepared to dig through the refrigerator and find her something to eat. Just as he righted himself, a heartbroken little sob echoed down the hallway.

Immediately he was in the bathroom, searching for the cause of her cry. Was she hurt? Afraid?

When he reached her, his heart fell out of his chest. She had taken her pants off and was kneeling next to the kitten's little litter box, trying to figure out how to get in it. Her face was a mask of pain, tears dripping from her nose.

"Little one," he said, "Wisp, what are you doing?" Edward stepped forward quickly, picking her up under her arms and lifting her from the floor to the toilet. She wiggled out of his grasp and slumped to the floor, huddling in a little ball on the cold tile. Her cries modulated, rising in pitch and volume until the sound was just one long, high scream interrupted by jagged inhalations.

And Edward couldn't hide from the truth anymore.

"Fuck." He pulled hard at his hair. As much as she liked the kitten, maybe it had been a mistake. The brutal abuse she had suffered was clearer now as understanding filled him. Cat food. A litterbox. Crawling.

"What do I do now?" he asked, his own voice verging on hysterical. "What do I do now, honey? How do I make you understand?"

He left her in the bathroom for a moment, pacing to the kitchen where he had left the kitten. It was curled up on the seat of a chair—something Wisp would never do on her own. Picking up the tiny creature, he swiftly brought it back to the bathroom and deposited it in its litterbox.

"Wisp," he said, voice tight. "Wisp, it's not for you, honey. Come here and look."

He picked her up under her arms again though he knew it probably wasn't the most comfortable way to hold her. She kept her legs tucked up under her, not even trying to put them on the ground. The piercing screams did not stop, either, and Edward spared a moment to be glad that his only neighbors were Carlisle and Esme. Wisp was hurting and nothing else mattered, but he was still thankful that his ears were the only ones listening to this.

"Wisp, little girl, look," he pleaded. "Please look." She would not look up on her own, so Edward knelt with her next to the cat box, holding her back to his chest, her shoulder in one hand, her chin in the other. "Look," he begged. "Look, sweetheart."

The kitten crouched in the far corner of the box, cowering from Wisp's screams. "Please don't," Edward said again. "Look, please. The box is for her, not you."

When she finally looked up, his hand steadying and lifting her chin, she immediately lunged forward and snatched her cat from the box.

It struggled, scratching at her hands, afraid of the cries and sudden movement. Wisp squealed louder, which Edward hadn't thought was possible, and dropped the wiggling animal. Thankfully she was kneeling and the cat only fell a few inches. It ran out of the bathroom, disappearing around the doorjamb with its poofy tail held almost straight up.

Okay, so that hadn't worked. Edward picked her up again, holding her close to his chest, wincing a little as her open mouth hovered near his ear. For the first time ever, she fought him. She struggled in his arms, begging with her body for him to let her be. Edward was pretty sure that if hearts could bleed, this was what it felt like. Her trust in him was gone, and all because of a litterbox—because he hadn't been willing to admit the truth to himself about the extent of her abuse.

"No," he said, gritting his teeth and holding on even though she was breaking his heart. "No, you have to see this."

He brought her to the hall closet, which had a full-length mirror on the inside of the door. She stayed where he put her when he let her go, swinging the closet door open quickly and turning on both the hall and closet lights.

"Look," he demanded, picking her up again under her arms so she dangled at human height. "Look at you. You're not a fucking animal!"

"Pet!" she squealed, gulping in a ragged mouthful of air. "Pet, pet, pet!"

"No," Edward insisted, no mater how much she hated that word. "You are not a pet. _That_ is a pet." He retrieved the terrified kitten, holding it up to Wisp's chest and tipping her head toward the mirror. "Look," he said again. "This is a pet. It's small and furry, and has limited intelligence."

"Pet," she insisted. "Pet!"

"Yes." He nodded and put her quivering hand on the struggling kitten. "This is a pet. This. Not you."

The screams had stopped with her words, but now the sobs began to slow into something that sounded much less hysterical. Her eyes, swollen and red, squinted carefully at the mirror.

"I am _so_ screwed if anyone finds out about this." Edward peeled off his shirt, then tugged at Wisp's until she relinquished it. "Look," he said, sliding his hand slowly down her arm. "Skin, not fur. Remember Alice? Remember Rosalie? Here." He picked up her hand and traced it down his bicep. "See? The same." He wiggled his fingers, then placed them over hers. "Ten fingers," he breathed, his heart still racing even though she was now quiet and paying attention. "Two ears." He tickled hers, and brought her hand up to touch his. "Two eyes. I mean, cats have eyes too, but that's not the point right now."

He'd released the kitten when he removed their shirts, but now that Wisp was quiet again it slowly slunk toward them, nervy but cautious, testing each step before it committed.

"Wisp, please." Edward didn't know what he would do if he couldn't make this concept clear to her. "Can you see the difference? Can you see that you look like me, not like her?"

Her chest rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath again. She wasn't fighting him anymore, but the fact that she had at all absolutely broke him. Her trust in him had been compromised, and he didn't know how to fix it.

Her sternum wasn't smooth, but ridged with the slight indentations of her ribs. He'd seen her naked before, but he hadn't really...looked, he guessed? Now he couldn't help it as he slowly traced one body part at a time, then took her hand to mimic the gesture on his own body. "Just like with Alice," he said quietly. "You know you're not a man. Now can you figure out that you're not an animal, either?"

Her face was flushed and red from screaming and the color bled down her throat, even over part of her chest before fading into milk-paleness. Edward touched her shoulder, his palm engulfing the smooth joint, then brought her hand to his. Wisp stared at him through the mirror, eyes huge, body still shuddering with halting breaths.

"There," Edward murmured, though he wasn't at all sure they were really any closer to solving the problem. "You're fine, little Wisp. You're fine. Show me that you understand."

His hand grazed her elbow and, without prompting, hers dropped to echo the touch. He shivered at the whisper of her fingertips against his skin, so unlike any other contact he'd ever felt. "Elbow," he whispered, then moved his hand to cup her bent knee. "Knee."

He was still wearing jeans but she found his knee anyway, her touch barely felt through the fabric.

"Belly button." The skin surrounding hers was devastatingly soft. Edward's brow wrinkled in confusion as she leaned back when he touched her, settling on her back on the carpet. His confusion disappeared a moment later when she brought her knees up and opened her legs, her eyes devoid of any emotion he could understand.

The flesh between her legs was dry and delicate and pink. Edward couldn't imagine what it would feel like if someone tried to take her like that. He shuddered internally.

"No," he said, heart breaking all over again as he drew her legs back together and held them there until he was sure she wouldn't move them again. "Sweetheart, no. I'm not going to touch you there. Nobody is. That's yours, and nobody has the right to make you feel like you have to give it to them." Slowly, watching her confused frown the whole time, he eased himself down next to her on his side, propping his head up on his hand. "There's so much you don't know about how the world is supposed to work," he said softly. "So many wonderful things that you don't understand. I hate that it's the darkness in human nature that you are familiar with."

"Pet," she whispered, her forehead still creased with confusion.

"Not anymore," Edward said firmly. He took her hand and pressed her palm against her chest. "Wisp." Turning their linked hands, he pressed them against his own. "Edward."

"Edward," she echoed, still frowning. Her voice was hoarse. He needed to remember to give her some water or, better yet, warm tea.

"Yes." He nodded. "I'm Edward, and until we know differently, you're Wisp." He pushed their hands onto her sternum again. "Wisp."

Her lips pursed as if to start the 'w' sound, but she halted before speaking.

"Wisp," Edward repeated. "You're not a pet. You're a beautiful human being, and your name is Wisp."

She still did not respond verbally. Edward held back the part of himself that wanted to be impatient. She needed time; a couple of days weren't going to fix her.

"Such a beautiful person," he murmured. "Inside and out."

"Edward."

"Yes." Edward didn't know how, but he actually managed a faltering smile. "I'm Edward, and you're Wisp. I'm a man, and you're a woman. We're the same, really." He pressed his forehead softly against hers, feeling the warmth of her breath on his skin. "Eyes," he whispered and, without really meaning to, he shifted slightly and brushed his lips against her flickering eyelids. "Nose." He kissed the tip of it.

Wisp's eyes squinted open. This close, he could see golden seams scattered through the brown, like veins of unmined ore.

"Wisp," he whispered. "Say it, please."

She exhaled slowly, and he felt the gentle rise of her torso as she breathed in again. "Wisp."

"Good girl." Edward felt like he'd run a marathon, but also like he'd won it. "Good girl, that's right. You're Wisp—for now, at least."

"Pet?"

He pushed himself slowly upright, extending a hand and bringing her with them. The kitten was in the closet—in one of his running shoes, in fact. "_That_ is Pet," he said, pointing to the little creature. "You're not, and you never will be again."

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_A/N: So I was impatient and posted before my melodrama-alerter (aka emergency prereader) got a chance to look at this, so I apologize if we took a trip down that road. Loves you, duckies!_


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: Hi duckies! Here's an extra update because apparently I cave to bribery. (_Ooza_, I blame you!) All standard disclaimers apply._

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**Wisp**

Her hands were badly scratched from the frightened kitten's claws, so Edward took care washing them during her bath, then applied Neosporin and a couple of bandages to the deepest spots. Wisp sucked on a shallow slice near the cuticle of her index finger. It looked like a paper cut and probably felt just about as uncomfortable. Edward said nothing, letting her soothe the wound however she liked if it made her happy.

She was quiet, which wasn't unusual, but there was something...something off about her silence after her panic attack and while Edward couldn't quite explain it, he felt the strain. She sat still in the tub and let him wash her, but her eyes remained trained on her legs and her soft mouth, usually tilted in a pleased smile during bathtime, was solemn.

Edward didn't know what to do. Something within their dynamic had changed and it was too soon to know just how that change would manifest. Right now she was quiet, almost...distant, which seemed like an odd thing to say about a girl who was naked in front of him, letting him wash her body gently with a cloth. He slipped damp fingers under her chin, tilting her head gently toward him.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly as her eyes remained downcast, lashes hiding whatever might be lurking in the soft brown. He wrung out the washcloth and wiped gently at her cheeks, clearing away the salty remnants of her tears. "I'm sorry I scared you, and if I hurt you at all, I'm sorry for that, too. I just...I didn't know what else to do. Little Wisp, you have to understand, I'm about as lost here as you are. I want to help you, but a lot of the time I feel like I'm stumbling in the dark. Which means sometimes, unfortunately, we're going to fall down."

She did not raise her eyes, and Edward sighed. He dabbed at her swollen lip, which seemed to be healing well despite her tendency to chew on it, then let the water out. It was the shortest bath she'd ever had in his home. "The important thing," he said, retrieving a towel for her, "is for both of us to get up again. I can only carry you so far."

Rosalie and Esme had provided Wisp with a plethora of pajamas—fleece, flannel, thermal, and lighter cotton—in soft, feminine colors, and Edward chose a set of sky blue dotted with fleecy clouds tonight. The clothes were still big on her, but they fit much better than what he'd given her that first night. For the first time, she did not proffer her feet for socks until he showed them to her, urging her to unbend from the ball she'd wound herself into. She docilely let him slide the socks on her feet, but when he offered her his arms to take her downstairs, she sucked her lower lip into her mouth and chewed on it for a moment before slipping to her hands and knees, crawling on her own out of her bedroom and to the stairs, which she backed awkwardly down in an odd sort of thumping slide.

Edward watched her struggle, his stomach tight. While he ultimately wanted her to have some more independence and autonomy, he wasn't at all sure that the way she pulled away tonight was a good thing. Distance and mistrust weren't what he wanted—not at all.

He said nothing, though, merely followed her down the stairs, then left her in the living room with her kitten while he returned to the kitchen. It didn't escape his notice that she crawled to a spot on the floor where she could see him through the kitchen doorway. He felt slightly better knowing that she still wanted him near, even if some measure of trust had been lost tonight.

Edward stared for a long time at the closed refrigerator, wondering if he should push her a little more tonight or just let her be. The cat food incident hadn't been as bad as the litterbox, and he thought that maybe, maybe he could try to reinforce her personhood just a little bit more if he fed both her and the kitten at the same time. The cat did not need a second dinner, but Wisp certainly did.

"Okay," he muttered finally to himself. "Okay, all we can do is try." If worse came to worse, he could always call Carlisle and ask him to bring over a dose or two of Ativan. Not enough to make her sleep, but enough to hopefully calm her down if she got worked up again and couldn't do it herself.

So, unsure whether it was a good idea or not, Edward fixed Wisp a plate of celery and peanut butter, along with some cubed seedless watermelon, and dished up a small scoop of food for the kitten. He walked into the living room carrying both, feeling Wisp's wary eyes on him as he placed her plate on the coffee table and the kitten's dish on the floor.

"Come eat," he said, stepping back slightly but not sitting down on the couch just yet. He didn't want to be too slow in reaching her if something bad happened.

Wisp approached the table cautiously, crawling on two knees and one hand, her kitten clasped against her chest with the other. Now that she wasn't screaming, the cat looked perfectly content to be carried. Wisp halted her lurching crawl near the table, putting the kitten down and sitting back on her legs, her lip between her teeth again as she eyed both dishes, one on the table and one on the floor. Edward desperately wanted to pick her up and put her in front of the correct one, but he forced himself to be still. If she chose on her own, it would mean she understood at least this much about who, and what, she was.

The kitten moved forward, little bottlebrush tail held high, and shoved its face into its dish, lapping at the cat food. Edward held his breath as Wisp watched the creature eat. Would she push it away? Try to eat the cat food? He hated that this was still a question.

After a moment, Wisp shifted on her knees. She scooted onto her cushion, still watching her kitten, and then turned and looked at the food on her plate. She regarded the sticky brown peanut butter warily, bringing her nose down close to the plate to sniff it with caution before sticking out her tongue and taking a cautious lick.

"It's not cat food, little Wisp," Edward said, backing slowly toward the couch, watching her the whole time as she rolled the taste of the peanut butter around in her mouth. He lowered himself into a sitting position, barely breathing as she stuck out a finger and scooped up a glob of peanut butter, bringing it to her mouth with slightly more confidence.

"Yes," he said, exhaling a deep breath when she picked up a whole celery stick and bit into it. "Yes, honey. That's your food. Protein and something sweet, because I know you like that. The cat food is only for cats, not for people."

She finished her dinner quietly, and Edward managed to wipe her hands with a damp cloth before she could pick up her kitten again and smear peanut butter all over its fur. He let them play a little more, but the kitten tired quickly and fell asleep in Wisp's arms. She held it belly-up, cradled like a baby, and ran her fingertips lightly over its scruffy black fur. She inspected the miniscule paws and needle-like claws, the longer tufts of hair growing out of its ears, the little black whiskers and wet nose.

"Do you see now?" Edward watched her close examination of the little pet. "Do you see how different you are?"

But Wisp did not acknowledge his words, merely leaning down and pressing one of her not-quite kisses against the kitten's head. Something in Edward's gut tightened uncomfortably. He had thought of giving her a cat initially so she could have something to show affection to, something that wasn't him. Dr. Lawton's accusations still cast a heavy pall over his interactions with her, and he wasn't terribly eager for other people to witness the physical closeness they shared despite the fact that there was absolutely no sexual element to it at all. Part of him, yes, was extremely glad that she liked the kitten and—peripheral meltdowns excluded—had taken to it so well. But another part of him was...okay, if he had to admit it, kind of jealous. She showered affection on that little tuft of black fur like it was the best thing that had ever come into her life, and yet after her panic attack over the litterbox, she was pulling away from Edward. Yes, he knew it was ridiculous to be jealous of a cat, particularly since this was the precise reason he'd got it for her. He also understood that she wasn't shunning him out of spite—the poor thing likely had absolutely no clue how to be spiteful even if she wanted to. This was a genuine reaction to a genuine emotion, but without speech he didn't know if he would ever really understand the reason behind it. Had he hurt her physically when he picked her up? Had his tone of voice or use of the word "no" frightened her to the point where her trust was weakened? Had his rejection of her offer of sex upset her somehow? He remembered Rosalie commenting at some point that sex might be the only currency his little Wisp knew she had. Did he hurt her feelings of self worth, however small they might be, by refusing her?

"You don't really want me to touch you like that," he told her, though she wasn't listening. "Not truly. Not for the right reasons. That's why I can't and won't do it, sweet girl."

She did not respond.

Edward tried reading for a while, but it wasn't working. His eyes kept leaving the page, returning over and over again to Wisp, who sat on the floor and held her sleeping kitten, petting the tiny creature with reverence. She didn't move—didn't shift or adjust her position at all—and he wondered if she was afraid of waking the cat in her arms. God knew he'd held her like that plenty of times now, refusing to shake out a cramping leg or adjust a falling-asleep arm in case the movement disturbed her rest.

"I'm glad you like your cat," he said, giving up for the night and setting the book aside, "but I don't want you to identify too much with it. Okay?"

She didn't respond until Edward brought the kitten's plushy little bed over and set it on the floor beside her. He knelt down and patted the soft, round bed, motioning for her to set the kitten in it.

Wisp hesitated, her lower lip trembling slightly, but she did not disobey. Slowly, cradling the tiny creature as if it were priceless and breakable, she lowered it into the little pink bed. The kitten yawned and turned on its side, curling up into a little black ball, its one white paw hidden. Wisp brushed her hand over its fur lingeringly. "Pet," she whispered.

"Yes," Edward acknowledged. "Pet is going to sleep right here, and you're going to sleep upstairs. Come on, and we'll get you ready for bed."

Once more, she refused his offer to be carried. She also tried to brush her own teeth once they were in the bathroom, toothpaste foam trickling out of her mouth as she awkwardly worked the unfamiliar brush. At least she was spitting out less blood now, which meant her mouth was getting healthier.

Edward watched carefully as she crawled to the toilet, and he didn't miss her sidelong look at the litterbox and furtive glance his way before she clambered up to relieve herself properly. He sighed in deep relief, leaving her alone for a moment of privacy though it really didn't seem to matter to her one way or another.

She crawled up the stairs after washing her hands and face, pausing at the top to stare back and forth between the two open bedroom doors. Edward could feel her uncertainty, and he wondered if her distance toward him tonight might be an opportunity to wean her out of his bed. He didn't want her to shy from him like this, but he _did_ want her to be able to sleep in her own bed.

"Shall we try tonight?" he asked, stepping forward and into her little bedroom. He snapped on the light and waited. With a blank face, she crawled through the doorway after him.

Edward turned down the blankets on the bed, but she balked and headed for the closet instead, curling up in a little ball on the floor. Though the closet was now full of clothes, the floor was relatively clear still—Esme and Rosalie had not known her shoe size, and she didn't walk anyway.

"Okay," Edward said after a moment. "Okay. I guess we've pushed you enough for one night, huh?" He retrieved the pillow and comforter and, just like before, made a little bed for her in the closet. "We're going to have to work on this, little Wisp. Your fear of furniture, and also whatever happened between us tonight. But for now, I'll let it be." Unable to stop himself, he kissed her forehead softly before standing up and forcing himself to leave the room. He did not look back to see if she was watching.

It took a long time for Edward to fall asleep. Wisp made no noise and he desperately wanted to go check to see if she was sleeping, but he made himself stay in his own bed. What if she were awake? She probably wouldn't like him just wandering in and out of her room like that, especially now. He tried to read again, finally settling down around one in the morning and clicking off his bedside lamp, surrendering himself to sleep.

* * *

Edward shifted, trying to roll over in bed. There was something heavy on his feet, holding him down. It felt like when the golden retriever he'd grown up with had snuck into his room and laid itself across the foot of his bed without regard for the human under the blankets.

Squinting open one eye, Edward turned his head and saw sky blue flannel and tousled brown hair.

She was curled up, like the dog from his childhood, at the foot of his bed, his feet stuck under her warm little torso. Edward exhaled slowly, twisting to his back and then sitting up, rubbing his eyes blearily with the heels of his hands.

There were dried tear tracks on her cheeks, though he _knew_ he'd washed them away before putting her to bed. Last time she woke up scared and alone, she'd cried loudly enough outside his door that she woke him up. Why hadn't he done so this time?

Slowly, Edward reached out and traced his fingers across her cheek. Despite the flannel pajamas, her skin felt a little cool. Had she been sleeping there all night?

"Whatever I did to make you afraid," he whispered, "I'm sorry. But I can't be sorry that you came back to me. Jasper—I think it was Jasper—called me your safe harbor. I...I'd like to be that for you, if you'll let me. You have to know that I'd never do to you what James did."

She shivered, curling tighter into herself, and when Edward touched her fingertips he felt how chilled she really was. "Come here," he said softly. "Come here and get warm. You know I won't hurt you."

Her eyes opened groggily as he put his hands under her arms, drawing her up the bed. He settled her next to him, tucked the blankets back around them both, and drew her flannel-clad body against his. "Shh," he soothed. "Go back to sleep; it's early."

She turned in his arms, draping herself partially over him, and snuggled deeper. A soft breath left her mouth, and her body relaxed back into sleep.

* * *

When Edward opened his eyes again, an anxious pair of brown ones were hovering over him.

"Mm. Hi," he grated, raising his hands to hold her waist. Though his brain was still foggy with sleep, it only took him a few seconds to realize that she was looking at him again—something she hadn't done since before her meltdown the night before.

It took him three seconds longer to realize that she was straddling an aching erection.

She raised herself up, hands flat on his chest, pushing her warmth firmly against him, and Edward groaned. "Jesus Christ," he bit out, struggling into a sitting position. He picked her up in his arms, staggered out of bed, and put her down again. She slithered stubbornly off the mattress, kneeling at his feet and looking up at him with big, dark, questioning eyes.

"Yes," he managed to say, very grateful that he had chosen to sleep fully clothed last night. "It's awake, but that doesn't mean it's for you."

She bit her lip, neither moving forward to press the issue nor dropping her eyes. Edward grit his teeth and bent down, brushing a kiss across her forehead. "Can you be alone for just a few minutes? I'd really, _really_ like to take a shower."

Wisp didn't answer, but she let him pick her up; Edward was shocked at the amount of relief he felt. He took her downstairs and left her to harass the sleeping kitten, quickly jumping in the shower to get clean and relieve his problem. This was a side effect of sleeping with a girl in his bed that he hadn't previously thought about, and it only solidified the belief in his head that she needed to be in her own bed as soon as possible. It would be best for both of them—a clear way to keep on the right side of the line of acceptable behavior.

Not that he seemed to be doing such a great job at adhering to that line. Edward groaned quietly as he thought about his actions the night before. He'd undressed her and touched her for reasons other than bathing or changing her clothes. He'd deliberately put his hands on her, and made her put her hands on him, too. No wonder the poor girl was confused. Okay, he hadn't touched her breasts or between her legs, but did that really matter so much? He'd touched her. Kissed her eyelids and her nose—somehow more intimate than her forehead. What was _wrong_ with him?

The thoughts in his head were still troubled as he dried off and dressed for the day, then let Wisp in to use the bathroom. He wanted to talk to someone about this, but he was also afraid. His friends and family knew how hurt Wisp was. Would they call Scott if they knew? Tell him that Edward wasn't a responsible caretaker after all? He shuddered at the thought. She couldn't go back to that hospital, she just couldn't. For her sake, maybe it was best to just keep quiet. Pretend it had never happened and, above all, never _ever_ do it again.

In the kitchen afterward, Edward suddenly realized something else.

She'd been on his bed.

He had put her to sleep last night on the floor, because she would not climb up onto her own bed, but when he woke this morning, she was sprawled across his. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Yes, she'd been afraid, or sad, or...something. Something that put those tear tracks on her cheeks. But she had come to him for comfort and, more than that, she had climbed up onto his bed without prompting and fallen asleep curled at his feet. Okay, so it wasn't perfect. It was progress, and he'd take it.

By the time he'd made breakfast—silver dollar pancakes, which she could hold in her fingers and dunk in melted butter and syrup—Edward felt slightly better. It had been a mistake to touch her, he told himself. A mistake brought on by her panic, by his intense need to explain to her that she was human, not a pet, and he wasn't going to treat her like an animal. He'd been overwrought, and he wouldn't do it again. Next time, if there was a next time, he'd have a dose of Ativan ready to calm her down. That would be best until he could figure out how to explain to her.

Wisp _loved_ the pancakes, and Edward felt himself slowly calming down, nearly back to normal as he watched the delight shining in her eyes. She chewed reverently, devouring as many as he would give her, not even glancing at the cat food that he had, again, placed on the floor next to the coffee table. The sparkle in her brown eyes was back, bright and beautiful, and he even saw a smile when she stuck her finger in her mouth to suck away the sweet, sticky syrup. Edward decided that they could call the pancakes a celebration of sorts, since she'd made the huge step of choosing to use a bed last night, no matter the circumstances. There was no guarantee that she would do it again anytime soon, but he didn't care. One thing at a time, and Wisp deserved to celebrate her achievements without pressure.

His first phone call of the day was to Jasper. Now that he knew for sure that she had been treated like an animal, Edward was more eager than ever to get her walking. They needed to make sure her knees were okay, and then hopefully get a physical therapist to come to the house and work with her.

But Jasper, when Edward called, said he was unavailable that day. "I have a colleague with a couple of open appointments," he offered, "but I'm booked until the day after tomorrow."

Edward considered before declining the other pediatrician. "She's comfortable around you," he said. "She's already going to be afraid of the new environment; I don't want to freak her out more by forcing her to interact with a stranger like that."

"She'll have to interact with nurses and technicians," Jasper warned. "I can't do it all myself, but I'll do as much as I can. If she's upset, you could try giving her some Rescue Remedy."

"Sorry, Jazz, but I don't put much faith in that homeopathic stuff."

"Well, I'm sure Carlisle has more Ativan lying around, but that will throw off her blood pressure and possibly her heart rate. It's not a huge deal, but we won't have accurate readings, and we already don't have a baseline for her. She was sedated when Carlisle gave her a checkup before, right?"

"Right," Edward confirmed. He understood Jasper's concern, but he personally felt that her knees were more important. Unless, of course, there was something wrong with her that they didn't know yet.

"I'll pencil you in for a double appointment the day after tomorrow," Jasper said, "so we have plenty of time to be slow and gentle, to keep her as calm as possible. Besides, didn't Emmett mention that the sketch artist was coming by today?"

Edward sucked in a breath. He'd forgotten about that. "I...don't know," he said. Would they still want to do that now that James had talked, even a little bit? He'd admitted to knowing the girl, after all. What more did they think they could learn by showing her a photo of him? "I'll have to call and ask."

"Well, let me know how it goes. Alice is in Seattle overnight visiting her mom; I think she was planning to bring back more art supplies tomorrow."

More art supplies would be good, Edward thought as he watched Wisp throw a catnip-filled mouse toy for her kitten. The more ways she had of expressing herself, the better.

Emmett confirmed, when Edward called, that they did in fact want to come over still, despite James' almost-confession. They weren't giving up on finding Wisp's family no matter what James said, but that meant they needed clues—clues they didn't have.

"I don't know what might happen," Emmett said, "but we gotta try. Seriously, the tiniest thing could break this case wide open. Why? You change your mind about doing this?"

"No." Edward pulled at his hair, his eyes on the girl in his living room. "I know we need to keep trying. I just—we didn't have such a great night last night."

"Really?" Emmett sounded interested—too interested, Edward thought. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "It's fine. When will you be here?"

"Give us an hour-ish," Emmett said. "Garrett's old, and he moves kinda slow."

* * *

True to his word, Emmett arrived about an hour later with a white-haired man in his 60's.

And Rosalie.

Edward knew better than to question her presence; he suspected all he'd get back was a snarky comment, and that was the last thing Wisp needed right now. She seemed to accept Rose and Emmett easily enough, but she watched the stranger warily. Edward hated to see her fear, but he was also gratified when—the kitten nowhere to be found at the moment—she scooted close to him and reached out, asking to be held. Relieved, he pulled her carefully into his lap and let her hide against his shoulder, her eyes watching the stranger warily.

"Well, hello, missy," the old man said, seemingly unperturbed by her suspicious glances. "It's been a while since I've made a house call to such a pretty little lady."

She turned her head further into Edward's shoulder and he stroked her cheek lightly, hoping that his touch once again soothed her. "Emmett's told you her story?" he asked the sketch artist.

"Yep." The man settled on the far side of the couch. Wisp flinched, but didn't scramble away. "As much as he knows, anyway. Skittish little thing, isn't she?"

"She has a right to be."

The man shook his head, clucking ruefully. "So I hear. Poor girl."

Rosalie and Emmett took chairs, and Edward noticed that Emmett had his trusty little video camera with him. Whatever he hoped might happen today, it would be caught on video.

"So...I'm not sure what we're...I mean, how this is going to work." Edward frowned. "She's not a trained seal; I can't _make_ her draw something for you."

"Well," the old man said, "let's just start slow and see what happens, shall we?" He opened the portfolio case with him, extracting a pad of drawing paper and a box of charcoal pencils. With surprising grace for someone of his age, he slid to the floor and set his items on the coffee table, winking when Edward furrowed his brow. Garrett began to draw, the curve of his arm obstructing Edward's view of the paper...and Wisp's.

She was intrigued; Edward could tell by the way her body shifted as she tried to glimpse Garrett's drawing while remaining in Edward's lap.

"We'll just give her a while to get good and curious," Garrett said, not taking his eyes off his work. "She's like a nervy little kitten, this one."

"You have _no_ idea."

Emmett and Rosalie shot him curious glances, which Edward pointedly ignored. Now was not the time to begin explaining last night. He wasn't even sure he could.

Wisp leaned farther and farther toward Garrett as he worked, her neck stretched out, her body tensed at an uncomfortable angle, and Edward heard her tiny huff of frustration when she still couldn't catch a glimpse of his drawing. Finally, after half an hour or so, she slid hesitantly off of Edward's lap and shuffled forward, one hand still gripping his jeans tightly in a curled fist.

"There," Garrett said, shifting so she could see what he'd drawn. "What do you think?"

It was a portrait of Emmett. Edward smiled as Wisp's eyes went wide and she looked back and forth between the drawing and the real man in the chair. After a moment, she raised a hand and pointed silently at him.

"Good to know I haven't lost my touch," Garrett said with a grin. "Yep, that's Emmett. Here—why don't you draw me one now?" He passed her a sheet of paper and offered her a charcoal pencil.

Wisp took the pencil when it was pushed into her hand, and she bit her lip. Her fingers hovered over the blank page, but she did not attempt to draw anything.

"Tell you what. I'll draw over here, you can draw over there, and then we'll compare afterward," the old man said peaceably, and he bent his head over a fresh sheet of paper.

Wisp watched him for long minutes, silent and still, before she shifted slightly toward Edward again, moving her paper farther from Garrett's hands, as if she thought he might take it away again. Edward stroked her long hair, knowing words were pointless. Eventually she settled down enough to bend her head over the coffee table and draw.

For the first time, she was at such an angle that Edward could look over her shoulder and see at least some of her work. Her hand was sure and steady, more confident than Edward had ever seen her do anything. He watched in fascination as a marvelously detailed portrait of his face took shape on the paper, right down to the wild tangle of his hair and the scruff on his chin. She'd captured a strange look in his eyes...melancholy...yearning, perhaps? Like he was a little sad, a little wistful. Was that what he looked like when he watched her? He wanted her to be safe and happy—did that desire manifest itself to her? She was obviously highly aware of her environment and attuned to details.

Garrett showed her his picture after a while—a drawing of Rosalie this time. "Edward," Wisp said proudly, shoving her finished drawing toward the old man.

"Well now." The sketch artist smiled. "Emmett said you'd started talking a little. Didn't think I'd get to hear it for myself."

Edward tried to squelch pride that he'd been the first person she'd drawn. It was only natural, he told himself. She spent more time with him than anyone else, by far. He was, essentially, her world right now.

The little sliver of pride refused to go away.

"Shall we try again?" Garrett handed her a blank sheet of paper and a fresh, sharp pencil, and Wisp settled eagerly into her task this time, her suspicion seeming to melt away. Edward had to hold in a chuckle when he realized that she was drawing her kitten—scruffy fur, skinny little tail, big eyes and all.

Her happiness melted away when Garrett showed her the picture he'd drawn.

Of James.

A whimper left her mouth, and she abandoned her drawing and the pencil, all but crawling back into Edward's lap. He lifted her, letting her push her soft body against his, as if she could climb inside his skin and be safe.

"Shh," he murmured, wondering if this had been such a good idea after all. "Shh, you're fine, little Wisp. It's just a picture. A picture can't hurt you."

Wetness touched his neck, and Edward realized she was crying. Her body shook softly, her hands gripping tightly at fistfuls of his shirt.

"Here now," Garrett said, "a drawing can't hurt you. Let's see if we can draw something else."

"Give her a minute," Edward said, more sharp than he intended. He hated her tears. It made him hurt, knowing that she was afraid and he couldn't do anything except hold her and hope it helped. "How can we explain to you that he's not coming back, sweetheart?" he asked, more rhetorically than anything at this point. "How do I make it clear that you're safe?"

Garrett pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began to sketch again. Edward ignored the little noises of the pencil, concentrating on the girl in his arms. She quivered, obviously frightened, but at least she hadn't soiled herself this time. "Edward," she whispered, a soft, keening plea. "Edward."

"You're such a good girl," he murmured back, stroking her hair with one hand as he held her firmly in his other arm. "So brave. You're okay, little Wisp. He can't hurt you anymore. I won't let him. Emmett won't let him."

"Here," Garrett said after a moment. He passed the new drawing to Edward. "Show her this."

Wisp did not want to remove her head from her hiding place in the crook of his shoulder, but Edward persisted once he saw what Garrett had drawn. Finally she moved, reluctance clear in every slow shift of her body, peeking out at the paper and sniffling quietly. Immediately, she went still.

Garrett had drawn James' whole body this time, not just his face, though the detail of his features made it obvious who the person was. He sat in a barred cell behind lock and key, obviously unable to free himself.

Wisp was fascinated. She stared at the drawing for a long, long time. Her hand reached up, hovering as if she wanted to touch, but she dropped it again. A shaky breath rattled through her body, then another. She raised wet brown eyes to Edward, searching his again, though he didn't know what for. "James," she said, the word dropping from her lips with loathing.

"Yes." Edward nodded his head, the motion slow and deliberate, not breaking eye contact. "James. See? You don't have to worry about him anymore. I never thought you'd speak a word I wasn't happy about but, as far as I'm concerned, his name is one you can forget."

"See if she'll draw something now," Emmett urged from across the room. Edward tensed; he'd forgotten about the other two people watching him, Wisp, and Garrett interact.

"Do you want to draw?" he asked, shifting her slightly in his arms, showing her the coffee table, a fresh piece of paper laid out on top of her sketch of the kitten.

Wisp slid off his lap, eyes fixed on the blank paper, and Edward passed the drawing of James in jail back to Garrett with a thankful glance. This man clearly knew how to speak her language—the language of pictures. Edward hadn't progressed much beyond stick figures in art, and he was more than a little relieved that Garrett seemed to be having at least a little luck with her.

Wisp drew for a long time. Unlike her portraits of Edward and her kitten, this time her hands worked jerkily over the paper, awkward and halting. The room filled with more and more tension the longer she drew, and Edward knew the others were barely breathing, right alongside him, waiting to see what she would produce. Would it be helpful? Or would it be more of the same—her views of her life now? Had she repressed memories of her past? Were they too painful for her to think about, let alone draw?

When she finally put down her pencil and offered the drawing to Edward, he looked at it for a long minute before closing his eyes. Relief, anger—absolute fury—and aching sadness for the girl at his feet consumed him.

She'd done it. Maybe it was just a small step, but she'd drawn something.

The tableau set out on paper before him made him sick.

"What is it?" Emmett demanded from across the room.

Edward held his finger up in a gesture to wait, then offered Wisp his arms. She quickly returned to his lap, snuggling into the only human comfort, perhaps, she'd ever known. The drawing broke his heart, and he wished he knew how to tell her so.

She'd drawn an unfamiliar living room, definitely not the one they were gathered in now. The perspective was obviously hers; it was as if the viewer knelt or sat next to a couch, near the seated figure of a man whose face Edward did not know. He looked huge from this angle, bent legs large and long, head smaller and farther away. His pants were unzipped, and he held his rigid penis in his hand.

James was there, too, sitting on a chair, his eyes dark and hungry, trained on the viewer of the drawing with malicious intent.

As if he could wait no longer, Emmett rose from his chair and came to stand by the side of the couch, leaning over Edward to look at the picture. His eyes opened wide. "Ask her who that is," he said, his voice a harsh whisper.

Edward pointed to James. "James?" he asked.

"James," Wisp agreed solemnly, shuddering as she tucked herself more firmly against him. He had a feeling he'd be holding her for a long time this afternoon—not that he minded.

"And this?" he asked, pointing to the unknown figure playing with its genitals. She'd drawn a remarkably lifelike uncut cock, the foreskin pulled back as the man stroked himself. If there had been any question before about her role before she came to Edward, there certainly wasn't now. This was a body part she was very familiar with. "Who is this?" he asked, pointing with an unsteady finger. "Can you give us a name, sweetheart?"

A tremor ran through her body, and she turned her face away from the drawing. "Bad," she whispered. "Edward, bad. Pet."

"Okay." Edward pushed the paper into Emmett's hands, then wrapped his arms firmly around her, letting her hide in her favorite spot. "Okay. We're done for today. You did so well, and I'm so proud of you." She was crying again, and he didn't blame her.

"We've got a face at least." Emmett passed the picture to Garrett. "Can you enlarge that? Make a regulation sketch?"

"Sure thing," the artist said. "That little girl's got some talent."

"And now we have a face." Emmett glanced at Rosalie, who was chalk-white and looked like she wanted to murder something. "It's a start."

* * *

_A/N: I bet Garrett wasn't what you thought he'd be, huh? There's a reason he had to be old, trust me on this. Loves you, duckies!_


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: Ugh, thanks to Hev99 and anyone else who stuck w/ me through my Twitter meltdown yesterday. I've come to the conclusion that I keep writing the same story over and over again in different settings. Also that my training is slowly fading, since I don't follow teh rulez when I write fanfiction. _

_Lol, plenty of you tried to guess why Garrett had to be old, which I thought was very sweet, but no one got it right. :) _

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

Emmett and Rosalie made pasta with red sauce for lunch after Garrett left to start his work on Wisp's sketch. Edward stayed where he was, Wisp's head pillowed on his shoulder, letting her hide for as long as she wanted. As far as he was concerned, she could hide in the crook of his neck forever if that's what made her happy. That picture she had drawn made him physically sick to his stomach and what made it worse was the utter frankness with which she drew. She wasn't trying to twist his insides into a painful, throbbing mass, but she did it anyway. Every line of her picture told a story—the easy way the unnamed man slouched on his couch, knees apart, outwardly ignoring the viewer of the drawing. There was something about his muscles, the way he sat, that told Edward clearly that, if the viewer moved a muscle, he would instantly be there to punish the wrongdoing no matter how relaxed he looked. James' hungry, malevolent eyes were bad enough, but there was something about the other man that made Edward hold Wisp that much tighter.

_Bad_, she'd said. _Edward, bad. Pet._ Her words were ambiguous, but to him the most important thing was that she'd felt comfortable enough to speak them. She was slowly coming out of her shell—agonizingly slowly, perhaps, but he was thankful for every baby step forward and he couldn't blame her when she had to take one back. She'd only been with him a few days, really. He couldn't expect miracles in that sort of timeframe.

And yet, some of her achievements felt a little like miracles. She hadn't lost control of her bladder since the first frantic night when she'd been in the bathroom and Carlisle said James' name. Now, pushing three weeks later, she'd said it herself. Granted, she was currently curled in a little ball on his lap, trembling slightly in his arms…but this was worlds better than before. He brushed his lips against her soft hair, rubbing her back gently with his thumb. Rage filled him when he thought about what she'd drawn—exactly the sort of anger he'd seen on Rosalie's face before she disappeared into the kitchen. He still wanted to tear James apart, but he also wanted to get his hands on the unnamed man at whose feet Wisp had knelt. She hadn't been able to supply them with a name, but Edward hated that stranger with a red-hot fury that frightened him a little. He'd never felt like this before, like he could inflict serious damage on another human being and be happy about it. Something inside him wanted to hit, to kick, to use the fury boiling inside him to tear this man apart, then laugh about it. Revel in his demise. The violent wish to hurt, to seek revenge, wasn't like him at all.

Or, it wasn't like the old him. Ever since his little Wisp spilled into his life, everything was different—upside down, inside out. He liked to think he was an enlightened man, comfortable and in touch with his own feelings, but he'd never felt like she made him feel. These new emotions were raw and deep, both good and bad. To see her happy brought him contentment deeper and more precious than any he had ever felt before. This rage, though, rippled through him with a power that was more than a little frightening.

"It's okay."

Edward nearly jumped out of his skin, jerking his head around. Emmett stood near him, an uncharacteristically solemn expression on his blunt, honest face. He really must have been lost in thought not to have noticed the giant in the living room. "How do you know?" he countered. "Nothing about this is even remotely okay."

"'s not what I mean. Dude, I get it."

"What do you get?" Edward shifted his hands on the girl in his lap, suppressing a shudder as her breath brushed against his neck once.

"You think I don't understand how it feels?" Emmett crouched down and started picking at the carpet pile with one hand. "When I met Rose, you think I didn't want to shove a grenade up the ass of the guy who hurt her and watch it rip him apart? If I could have, I would have done it with a smile on my face, then taken a shit on the bloody little bits of whatever was left of him. I would have done it, and I would have laughed, and I _know_ it would have felt so fucking good."

Edward swallowed hard. Yes, that's exactly what he wanted to do to the fucker who hurt Wisp, and he didn't even know him.

"So, yeah, I get it. But the thing is, that wouldn't have helped my girl any more than it will help yours." One side of his mouth turned up in the ghost of a smile, though there was no happiness in the gesture. "I was only making her nervous by being wound up and pissed all the time, and this little one is ten times more jumpy than Rosie even on a good day."

"She has a right to be," Edward argued, holding her closer.

"Dude, I'm not arguing with you there. Just…you know, try to find a way to cool it. You can't kill the fucker, but you _can_ do your best to make her happy now. You know?"

Yeah, Edward knew. He turned his head, resting his lips against her head. The clean, soft smell of her was oddly reassuring. She was alive. She was breathing. More than that, she was warm and safe, well fed and rested. Nothing would hurt her ever again if he had anything to say about it.

"I want him in prison, Em," Edward said, closing his eyes and concentrating on the feel of her soft little body in his arms. "I want him locked the fuck up forever, him and anyone else who hurt her. James, the guy she drew—I want them to pay."

"They will." Emmett hesitated. "Ed, I'm a cop, and I also happen to love a woman who has some shit in her past, so lemme tell you something. Even if all of them got the death penalty—which you know is impossible—even if you watched the fuckers die, you still wouldn't feel like it was enough. Nothing is ever gonna undo what they did to her, so nothing is ever gonna feel like enough of a punishment. Do you get it?"

Yeah, Edward got it. But it didn't make him feel any better. He opened his eyes and stared across the room, though he saw nothing. "I don't know everything," he said, tense and furious. "I don't know how they got her, where she came from, or who else might be in on it. But I know they fucked her over in every single meaning of the word. They made her crawl, and eat cat or dog food, and use a litter box." He shuddered.

"They _what_? How do you know that?"

Edward hitched one shoulder forward in a jerky shrug. "I told you we had a bad night last night." He breathed slowly, willing the tightness in his throat and chest to ease. "They took away her humanity, Em. The only part they left was her sexuality, and they warped even that into something so fucked up that it makes me want to puke." He raised one hand and pressed against the inside corners of his eyes, as if denying both the knowledge and the emotion it brought. "You hear about sex slavery on the news, but it always seems like such a…a removed practice. Like, it happens to girls in southeast Asia, or eastern Europe. You don't think about it happening down the street in your own state."

Wisp shifted in his arms, pulling away from her hiding place in the crook of his neck. Edward dropped his hand and blinked away the speckles from his vision, meeting worried brown eyes with his own.

"You're so attuned to voices, aren't you?" he said, trying his best to give her a smile. "Even though I'm not at all sure that you understand more than a handful of words, you know tone. It's how you survived, isn't it?"

She gazed at him, worrying her lower lip with her teeth, one hand finally unclenching from his shirt and rising to touch his cheek. Edward held his breath as her fingertips brushed his jaw, her warm palm slowly moving to cup his cheek as he'd so often done to her. A watery chuckle left his mouth and he pressed his forehead against hers. "You're fine, little Wisp. You haven't upset me—how could you? I don't believe there's a mean or spiteful bone in your body, though by all rights you should be harder than Rose."

"I'm not hard," Rosalie said, stepping into the room and slapping plates of steaming spaghetti down on the coffee table. "I'm reasonably wary. This little baby never had a chance to develop any sort of emotional armor." She leaned down and touched Wisp's face, stroking her long fingers gently against the warm cheek. "Did you, honey? I think those assholes got to you before you were old enough to even think to shield yourself."

Wisp watched Rose with wide eyes, but she did not pull away from the feminine hand. Rosalie only touched her for a moment, the retreated back to the kitchen for more plates.

Even for the promise of food, Wisp did not want to leave Edward's arms. She cried when he tried to put her on her cushion, grasping his shirt in her delicate fists and keening softly into his shoulder. Edward instantly relented. He had a sinking feeling that he always would, that there was just no way he could ever intentionally cause this girl pain, no matter what it was she wanted. Her distance the night before, pulling away from him for what reason he still did not know, had been more than enough. Making her feel that way again—making them _both_ feel that way again—was not an option.

So he juggled and shifted until he could hold her in one arm and a plate of spaghetti in the other hand. She'd have to use her fork herself; he didn't have an extra hand to help her.

She took the first few bites willingly, making a mess with the sauce, but Edward didn't care. The fierce attention she always gave her food was by far more entertaining than the mess was inconvenient.

"You're lovely," he told her, earning a glance from those big brown eyes. She had a smear of tomato sauce across her chin where a noodle had kissed her cheek before she sucked it into her mouth. There were still salty tear tracks running down her cheeks, too, and her lower lip was swollen and healing. Still, he didn't lie. Everything about her was lovely. Physically, she was absolutely perfect.

She looked down at the plate in Edward's hand again, spearing another forkful of dangling noodles. To Edward's surprise, though, she did not lift the bite to her waiting mouth. Instead she turned the fork around, offering it to him.

Edward didn't quite know what to say. He smiled at the sweet innocence with which she offered him a bite of lunch, then accepted the food gently. Noodles touched his lower lip and chin; she hadn't even tried to twirl the fork. He sucked the food into his mouth, feeling the telltale wet touch of sauce on his skin. "Thank you," he said, swallowing. Had she noticed that he wasn't eating because he couldn't hold her, her plate, and feed himself at the same time? She was incredibly observant but this was the first time, to his knowledge, that she had used her observations to actually do something. Was it progress? He hoped so.

It was also, incidentally, incredibly cute.

They shared both her small plate of spaghetti and then his bigger one. Edward noticed with a grin that she gave him a bite only every three or four of hers until she was full, at which time she abandoned the fork and peered at him, narrowing her eyes slightly as she cocked her head to the side.

"What?" he asked, smiling back at her expression. He knew he probably looked ridiculous with little flickers of marinara on his chin, but he couldn't really help it. Her fork skills were rudimentary at best, and spaghetti was messy.

Without warning, she straightened in his lap and moved forward, the flat of her tongue sliding against his chin, licking away the mess of tomato sauce. Edward froze, almost dropping the plate in his hand at the soft, wet touch so close to his mouth.

Emmett burst out laughing. "Man, you should see the look on your face! You look like someone just punked your ass!"

"Shut up, or I'll take your food away," Rosalie threatened. "She doesn't mean anything by it. Look, you're scaring her."

It was true—Wisp flinched back against Edward's shoulder, and he set the plate down so he could hold her with both arms. "Hey," he said softly, "it's okay. You didn't do anything wrong. Come here." He took a napkin from the table and wiped his own face, then hers. She stared at him, looking repentant, which he hated. "I mean it. You did nothing wrong. It was sweet of you to share."

Biting her lip, she leaned against his shoulder again. Edward kissed her forehead. "I know," he said softly. "I know. You get worried still."

He shifted, reaching for his plate again, and balanced it carefully on her legs. "We might make a huge mess," he warned, "but I don't really care too much. Will you watch?" Edward picked up the fork and twirled a small, compact bite. "I don't necessarily expect you to pick this up right away, but this is how you eat spaghetti." He offered her the bite, which she accepted with wide, bright eyes.

"Not like that," Emmett snickered. Edward closed his eyes briefly. He knew that voice. That was Emmett's trying-to-cause-trouble tone. It was one he had learned to be very wary of. "Over here, Wispy girl. Like this." He picked up a long piece of pasta in his fingers and put one end in his mouth, then offered the other to Rosalie.

"You're going to drip sauce on the carpet." She did not move toward him or give any indication that she was going to play along.

"Come on, babe! _Lady and the Tramp_? Best romantic animated scene ever!"

"She makes Edward nervous enough without meaning to; you are _not_ going to make it worse by modeling bad behavior." Rose shoved his hand back toward him, and Emmett muttered his disappointment as he dumped the noodle back on his plate. "Wisp," Rose continued, turning to the girl in Edward's lap, "don't listen to this lout when he gets like that, okay? The last thing he needs is encouragement."

Edward snickered, relieved that Rosalie was around to referee. In some ways, Wisp was very much like a blank canvas. The last thing they needed was for Emmett to convince her to do something completely inappropriate. Reenacting the spaghetti scene from _Lady and the Tramp_ might seem innocent enough, but he was desperately trying to stay on the right side of respectability with this girl despite how close they were. Emmett was just teasing, but he really didn't understand. He could kiss his girlfriend whenever he wanted to, and he _knew_ when she kissed him back that she meant it—that she wanted it. That was something he didn't know if Wisp would ever be able to do and, regardless, she certainly couldn't right now.

He fed her a few more bites between his, then watched as he finished his lunch and she fell asleep in his arms. She slept like the dead, still and small, not twitchy at all. Edward was beginning to learn that, whatever she did she did it completely, with her whole self. She didn't know the meaning of the word "multitasking" and she did not divide her attention between multiple things at once. When she ate, she ate. When she slept, she slept. Her life was focused on the here-and-now, not the past or the future. It was wonderful, in a way—something he wished he was better able to do.

"_Tink was not all bad; or, rather, she was all bad just now, but, on the other hand, sometimes she was all good. Fairies have to be one thing or the other, because being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time._" Rosalie knelt beside the couch and smiled at the girl asleep in Edward's arms.

"What's that from?"

"Peter Pan. I thought it was fitting. She's so small, and she does everything with her whole heart, no matter what it is." Rose touched the sleeping girl's cheek, then stood up straight and picked up the empty plates on the coffee table. "Now, get out of here, Edward."

"What?" he stared at the tall woman looming over him.

"You heard me. Put her down on the couch, cover her with a blanket if you want. Then put on some shoes and get the fuck out of the house. Go do some guy shit with Emmett. You need some time to just…be Edward, you know? Not a babysitter. It'll be fine—she's napping, and Carlisle and Esme are just a phone call away if she wakes up and freaks out."

She was right. Edward knew she was right. But that didn't make it any easier to contemplate getting up and walking out of the house without Wisp. "I don't really want to."

"Yeah, I know you don't, but Carlisle would probably tell you that's why you _should_."

"Come on, bro." Emmett levered himself out of his chair, motioning to Edward. "We can go hit something. I guarantee it'll make you feel better."

Edward looked at the girl in his arms. She was so trusting, so gentle and small. How would she react if she woke up to Rosalie rather than him?

"She has to learn, Edward," Rose said. "You both do."

_But not yet_, part of Edward pleaded, while another part understood. This needed to happen. She had to know he could go out and do things and that he would always, always come back to her. It wouldn't be a pleasant experience for either of them, but it was necessary.

Wisp did not wake as he slowly lay her down on the couch, covering her with a throw blanket. She turned her cheek into the cushion, swallowing in her sleep, then stilling. A blur of black fur zoomed into view, and Edward watched in amusement as the kitten half-jumped, half-clawed its way up the side of the couch, curling itself close to Wisp's belly.

"Where have you been all morning?" he demanded, stroking the tiny head with one fingertip. The kitten purred its pleasure with a rumbling little buzz.

"Edward, would you quit playing with the cat? Let's get a move on" Emmett stretched and scratched at the back of his neck, then turned to kiss Rosalie goodbye.

"I promise to be back soon." Edward brushed a kiss against Wisp's forehead, something she seemed to understand as a gesture of comfort. "You're fine, little one. You're absolutely fine."

* * *

After the boys left, Rose cleaned up the kitchen and fed the kitten, taking a cue from its incessant mewling and twining around her legs. The little thing almost got stepped on more than once, and Rosalie finally kicked off her shoes and began shuffling along in her bare feet so as not to accidentally tread on any tiny body parts.

"Is this what it's going to be like?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at the kitten as she put down the dish of cat food. "Having something underfoot all the time?"

The kitten ignored her, its entire attention focused on its food. Rose wiped her hands and returned to the living room.

Wisp was sleeping peacefully, one hand curled softly near her face, just peeking out of the blanket Edward had wrapped around her. Rosalie touched the back of her fingers to the girl's cheek, warm and flushed with sleep. "Do you know what a baby is?" she asked, settling to the floor next to the couch. "I'm kind of hoping you don't, because I'd be afraid for any baby who might have come in contact with the monsters that raised you." It felt weird to be talking to someone who was sleeping but, then again, Wisp didn't respond much whether awake or asleep. "Well, Emmett and I haven't told anyone yet, but we're having one. I keep going back and forth, you know? Thinking I'd like a boy, then thinking I'd like a girl. I guess I can't help wondering about your mother—what she thought when she was pregnant with you. I know she couldn't have wanted this sort of life for you."

Rosalie knew what people thought about her. She wasn't stupid or naïve. On the outside, she was frighteningly competent…and also just plain frightening. It was easier to face the world that way—easier to keep at bay the people she didn't want close to her, easier to deal with getting through the day. She hadn't always been like this but it was far preferable, she felt, to the alternative—living with her heart on her sleeve, raw and open, waiting for the next asshole to rip it to pieces with a mocking sneer.

She did not recognize the man Wisp had drawn, but oh, she recognized the look in his eyes. His entire body exuded the sort of haughty cruelty she'd learned to be wary of in men—the swagger, the looming, overarching understanding of authority. Men like that were dangerous. It wasn't confidence, not really. Emmett was confident. He was childish sometimes, yes, but he was secure in himself as a person and as a man. He didn't need to control, to subjugate, to feel good about himself.

"I know that look," she said quietly, resting her hand on the couch, just barely brushing Wisp's knuckles with her own. "The one that says he can and will crush you. The one that says you mean less than nothing to him. I know you're confused right now and maybe you feel like nobody can possibly understand you. Well, this is one thing I do understand, baby girl."

It had been years since she really sat down to think about it, to let herself remember in full. Long hours of therapy and, yes, some medication for a while, had helped to cut the memories down to something she could manage on a day to day basis. She could talk about it now. But her abuse had been short lived compared to Wisp's.

"I'll tell you about it sometime," she promised. "Later, when you're able to understand. Maybe you'll be able to tell me more, too. I know Edward believes you're smart, and I'm going to trust him on this one. If he says you can learn to talk again, I'm not betting against you." She barked out a sharp laugh. "Who am I kidding? I couldn't bet against you anyway. I've always been kind of a sucker for an underdog."

They sat in silence for a while, Rosalie watching the girl sleep. It was still hard to think of her as an adult, though Emmett said James claimed she was twenty. Twenty was barely grown up anyway, but this girl didn't even have the immaturity of a young woman fresh out of high school. She was a baby, a little toddler, in many ways, and yet far too knowledgeable in others.

At first Rosalie had wrestled with Emmett's desire to try for a baby. Not because she didn't want one, but because she was so afraid. A child was incredibly vulnerable; anything could happen to it. She wasn't the warmest person, and she knew that. Could she be a good mother despite her wariness, despite how much she did not trust the rest of the world? Would she ruin a child, raise it to be paranoid or, worse, starved for affection from a cold mother?

Now, looking at Wisp, Rosalie felt her fears shift. Some settled and others reared dark, ugly heads in her direction. Wisp wasn't a child and she wasn't hers, and yet Rosalie knew after only a few interactions with her that she would not be a cold mother. Just as she was different with Emmett than she was with the rest of the world, she would be different with her son or daughter. Wisp had shown her that. But inevitably, as she thought of the baby in her belly, she couldn't help but think about Wisp's mother. Surely no mother could just abandon a child to a monster like that. Surely any woman could see the danger in his eyes, his smile, even the way he sat? Right? So what had happened? Had the girl been a foster child, given to the state and then somehow lost in a system too big and too underfunded to keep kids from falling through the cracks? Had she been kidnapped? James claimed that she had no family looking for her and, while Rosalie didn't want to believe that, she understood well enough from her own past that it was entirely possible. Her parents hadn't known how to talk with her after her attack, how to interact with her in a healthy way. They'd grown distant, eventually ceasing all contact. Rosalie tried her best not to care. Emmett's family was wonderful, and the Cullens were like an extension of them. Wisp may not have her biological family, either, but when Edward pulled her out of that truck and carried her into this house, she automatically got one. That was one of the most wonderful things about the Cullens, all three of them, no matter how much grief she gave Edward. They were solid. They were loyal. They had hearts as big as the universe.

"You may not think it now," she said, "but you're actually extremely lucky, kiddo. Yeah, the first twenty years of your life sucked as far as we know, but now you're on easy street. Edward adores you, and so does Esme. Carlisle will come around if he hasn't already. You won the jackpot, and you deserve every single bit of it."

After a few more minutes, Rose moved away from the couch and retrieved a book about pregnancy from her bag. Right now she was skimming a chapter on natural birthing methods, but fuck that. She was having drugs, and doctors, and the comfortingly brusque atmosphere of a hospital. If some midwife or something tried to tell her to chant or meditate or something like that while in labor, Rose was liable to kill someone.

She watched Wisp's sleeping form with one eye as she read, also keeping note of the time. Emmett had been instructed to keep Edward away for two or three hours if he possibly could. The boy might not know it, but he needed some time to just be himself. He was always watching what he said and did around the girl, desperate to keep her calm and happy, and that _had_ to be wearying after a while even if he didn't realize it.

Wisp shifted and woke sometime in the midafternoon, blinking sleepily. Her kitten was curled near her cheek again and she stroked it, smiling at the little creature.

"Hi," Rosalie said, putting her book down and crossing the room. She sat next to the couch again, hoping she appeared less threatening that way, and offered the girl a smile. "Did you have a good nap?"

Wisp sat up slowly, head turning as she searched the room, her brow furrowing when she didn't find who she was looking for. "Edward?" Her voice was small and tremulous.

"You're okay," Rosalie said. "Edward is out with Emmett right now, but I promise he's coming back."

The girl's eyes filled with tears and she slid off the couch, shuffling on her hands and knees to peer into the kitchen, then the bathroom. "Edward?" she called a little louder.

"He's not here, honey. You can check, but you won't find him."

Wisp did not respond. She crawled up the stairs and Rosalie followed with a watchful eye, observing as Wisp poked through both bedrooms and even the linen closet. "Edward," she whimpered, sounding lost.

"He'll be back soon, baby girl. Until then, why don't you come downstairs with me?" She offered her arms as she'd seen Edward do, and Wisp reluctantly let herself be picked up. Rose maneuvered them carefully back down the stairs. Wisp's temporary name suited her—she weighed about as much as a breath of fog. Rose watched as two tears spilled out of her eyes, but it didn't look like she was going to have a panic attack, at least. The girl huddled into herself, curling into a little ball on the carpet when Rose put her down.

"None of that," Rose said, bringing her bag over and plopping down on a cushion on the floor. "He's coming back, and you're not going to fall apart if I can help it." She reached out and drew Wisp against her side. The girl did not look enthusiastic, but she didn't struggle either. "Come on, I brought something for you."

Rosalie pulled out another book, big and hardbound, with a blue cover. "This is Peter Pan. I didn't want to give you a book for babies, but I thought you might like to look at some pictures."

Wisp's attention was definitely caught. She leaned a little further over Rosalie's lap, swallowing back her tears.

"That's a girl." Rosalie smiled. "Look at you, turning me into a big marshmallow. This may be the only time I'll ever say it, but I'm kind of glad you can't talk—about this, at least."

The spine of the book made a satisfying cracking sound as Rose opened it. She turned to the first page which, in this particular edition, faced a beautiful color illustration of the boy who would never grow up.

Wisp reached out her hand, tracing her fingertips reverently across the artwork. She stroked the boy's auburn hair, his carefree smile, his pointy shoes and the pan pipes thrust through his belt.

"D'you want me to read it, too," Rosalie asked, "or would you rather just look at the pictures?"

No answer.

"You know what, I'm going to read. It can't hurt you to hear the words, and I'm going to need the practice later on."

Wisp's entire attention was focused on the picture. She breathed softly, enthralled. "Edward?" she asked.

"No," Rose said, amused at the comparison. "He's got similar hair though, doesn't he? And that irritating grin I'd like to smack off his face sometimes. That's Peter. Can you say that?" She pointed to the picture and repeated the name slowly. "Peter."

"Peter," Wisp echoed, a smile flickering over her soft mouth. She turned her head, meeting Rosalie's eyes. "Wisp."

When had Edward taught her that? Rose blinked in surprise. "Yes," she said finally. "You're Wisp. That's Peter." She pointed to herself. "I'm Rose."

"Rose?"

"That's right." Something warm fluttered through her, unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She could only imagine how much…more…it would feel when she taught her own child new words. "Rose. Wisp."

"Peter." Wisp pointed to the picture on the page, looking very pleased with herself. She had every right to, in Rosalie's opinion.

"Let's learn about Peter, okay?"

Wisp had no objection. Her kitten had come over to investigate Rosalie's bag, and Wisp picked her up and snuggled her close to her cheek.

"_All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, 'Oh, why can't you remain like this for ever!' This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end._"

Wisp watched with wide eyes, tracing her fingers over the letters on the page. It made reading a little difficult, but Rosalie didn't dare pull her hand away. "Do you know what books are, baby girl? Reading?" There was a look in her eye, something strange…not quite recognition. Like…like a shard of memory grasped from a dream.

"_Of course they lived at 14, and until Wendy came her mother was the chief one. She was a lovely lady, with a romantic mind and such a sweet mocking mouth. Her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the other, that come from the puzzling East, however many you discover there is always one more; and her sweet mocking mouth had one kiss on it that Wendy could never get, though there it was, perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner._

_ "The way Mr. Darling won her was this: the many gentlemen who had been boys when she was a girl discovered simultaneously that they loved her, and they all ran to her house to propose to her except Mr. Darling, who took a cab and nipped in first, and so he got her. He got all of her, except the innermost box and the kiss. He never knew about the box, and in time he gave up trying for the kiss._"

Rosalie paused, watching Wisp stare at the stark black letters on the white page. The girl put her nose right next to the paper, inhaling deeply the smell of the book. "We're both kind of like her, you know," Rose said, one corner of her mouth curling up in a half-smile. "Every time we find out something new about you, what we really find are more questions. There are parts of me Emmett will never be able to touch, no matter how much I love him. There's a kind of tragedy to being a woman, I suppose, though I wouldn't ever want to be a man."

"Rose?"

Rosalie tipped Wisp's chin gently upward, meeting her eyes. "Wisp," she said back. "Let's read, okay?"

Wisp settled near her on the floor, her kitten held in her cupped hands, her dark eyes alight with wonder.

* * *

_A/N: I've been absolutely fail at responding to reviews for the last few chapters, and I'm really, really trying to change that with this one! Thank you to everyone who reviews, they mean a lot to me! Those of you who share your anger at our villains or your own personal stories, I'm touched every single time. I can't thank y'all enough, and I will always be amazed at your interest in little Wisp._

_Peter Pan is in the public domain, more or less (at least, the text of the play and novel are)._

_Once more: I don't outline and I only work a couple of chapters ahead (and, actually, I deleted everything during my meltdown yesterday so I'm kinda shocked that I managed to get a chapter to you this week). So no, I don't know what's going to happen in the future except for a few vague ideas (Garrett being one of them). I really like not knowing what's going to come out of my head until it falls onto the screen._


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N: I had originally not planned to post this week, wanting to work on some long-neglected Glee stuff, but after the kerfluffle of the past few days, I changed my mind. This is all I'm going to say: I ship Bella/Edward, and I don't really care what's happening in Hollywood. In fact, I'd prefer not to know; I'm perfectly happy living in either ignorance or innocence, whatever you want to call it. As a very wise(?) man once said: "I reject your reality and substitute my own."_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

"Would you chill out already? Your girl is fine. If she wasn't, Rosie would have called us by now."

Edward toyed with the gloves in his hand. The gym was a good place to release some pent-up aggression, he guessed. A lot of people used workouts for just that purpose, but his head really wasn't in it. He felt sick with worry at Wisp's reaction to waking up without him.

"She's already afraid to go to sleep by herself," he argued as Emmett led the way onto the mats. "Now she's going to wake up and think she's been abandoned _again_."

"She's not abandoned. Rose is with her. Ed, calm down and focus, bro, or I'm going to beat your ass so fucking hard."

Emmett probably would anyway. Edward kept in shape, but there was a definite size difference that weighed heavily in Emmett's favor. "You don't know what it's like," he argued. "having someone depend on you so thoroughly. She needs me."

A strange look crossed Emmett's face. "I'm gonna find out soon."

"Find out what?"

"What it's like?"

Edward narrowed his eyes at the cryptic comment. "Are you planning to try to share custody or something? Because she's mine right now, until we learn otherwise."

Emmett snorted. "I'm not supposed to say anything yet, but Rosie's pregnant."

Edward blinked. Realistically, he should have been expecting it. Emmett had always wanted kids, even when he was a kid himself. He would probably make an excellent father, especially with Rosalie to temper his more easygoing nature. But somehow, it just hadn't occurred to him. Maybe because he and his friends had thoroughly enjoyed a prolonged youth, putting off marriage and children, just enjoying being young as they got their careers up and running. Jasper was only in his first year as a full doctor, not a resident. Edward admitted that he himself had spent a great deal of the past eight years immersed in academia in one way or another, but that didn't mean he wasn't having fun.

"Just...wow, man," he said. "Was this planned?"

"Kinda. I mean, we weren't preventing it, if that makes sense. I just decided, you know, I'm in a good place at work and Rosie has her shop up and running. We're kind of as settled as we're ever going to be, I think. There didn't seem to be any real reason to wait anymore."

For a moment, Edward felt a surge of jealousy toward his longtime friend. It was an uncomfortable feeling, one he wasn't used to. The way Emmett talked—he seemed to have everything figured out, so clear-cut. Easy and simple. He loved Rosalie and would eventually marry her—assuming Rose would let him. He'd chosen a career with a clear path to advancement, if that's what he wanted, and a steady paycheck. Rosalie owned her shop—a gift from the estranged parents she did not often choose to talk about—and was happy with her trade. They weren't boring, but they were settled, just as Emmett said. Secure. Edward wondered wistfully what that felt like.

After all, his own chosen career path wasn't nearly so assured. He freelanced as an academic, writing books and articles for scholarly journals. Most of those in his field were attached to a university and supplemented their income by teaching, which Edward had never felt much interest in. He liked the meticulous discipline of research rather than the mess of dealing with eighteen-year-olds who came to college with the goal of partying for four years and doing very little else..

In relationships, too, Edward had never been as stable as Emmett or even Jasper, who had only found Alice about two years ago. There had been plenty of girls in high school and his undergraduate years who wanted to date his pretty face, and he'd happily taken advantage. In graduate school he began to realize he wanted something more—a deeper emotional connection with someone—but the right person still hadn't come along. He'd tried a few times, Tanya being the last in a string of failed relationships. It wasn't her fault really, he felt, though neither Rose nor Alice had liked her at all. They were just incompatible, pure and simple. She'd wanted the outward signs of commitment—most notably a promise ring like Alice had—and she loved enjoying Seattle's nightlife every night she could. Edward had to admit after a while that he was more of a homebody. He liked living in the cabin on Carlisle and Esme's property, having his family so close. He liked poker nights with the regular crowd, barbeques during the summer, lazy nights talking with the TV on in the background. A night out was fun and all, but not five or six times a week.

Now Wisp had made his disorganized life even more disorganized. He didn't blame or begrudge her, but he knew perfectly well that cultivating a romantic relationship with a woman while caring for Wisp would be utterly impossible. She needed too much of his time and attention, and it wouldn't be fair to anyone involved. Right now, he wasn't even interested in looking for a hypothetical romantic relationship. His entire world revolved around the little brown-eyed girl waiting for him at home. This attempt to relax with Emmett proved it beyond a doubt.

"How long have you known?" he asked finally, putting his gloves on and wrapping the Velcro tabs around his wrist.

"A few weeks." Emmett tested the give of his gloves, then nodded Edward into the taped-off sparring area on the mats. "Rosie wasn't sure if she wanted to wait to tell people until the first trimester was over, just in case, and then—well, we were all kind of preoccupied."

Yes, they certainly were. "Sorry," Edward said. "She doesn't mean to steal the spotlight or anything."

"Shit, I know that. Even Rosie knows that. And we're glad she's safe and all—it's not a big deal."

"Esme will want to throw Rose a big shower."

"She'll like that." Emmett sank into a crouch and nodded at him. "Ready?"

Edward wasn't at all sure, but he mimicked Emmett's action nonetheless. He could do this. He could make it through a quick trip to the gym.

But could his Wisp? Worry flooded his mind again, and he almost didn't see Emmett's glove in time to duck under the quick jab.

"A little slow today?" Emmett laughed and threw a roundhouse toward his temple. Edward slipped under it and danced to the side, trying to twist Emmett's extended arm into a lock. The bigger man easily shook him off, and they parted again, eying each other as they shifted on bare feet, hands up protecting their faces.

Edward tried; he really tried. Even on a good day he couldn't beat Emmett, but he could usually go at least several rounds before admitting defeat.

Not today.

Emmett had him on the ground within five minutes, locked in a beautiful arm bar that the coach would have been proud of, were he here. Edward tapped out without any real remorse.

"Dude, what's up with you?" Emmett asked, dropping to his ass with a thud that rattled the windows. He'd broken a sweat, but not by much. "Is it really so hard to be away from her?"

Edward ducked his head, resting it against his black glove. He didn't know how to answer that.

"She'll be okay. You know you're not responsible for her all the time, and—"

"Yes," Edward said quickly, "I _am_. That's the deal I made. When they come to do foster home training or whatever they call it next week, that's what they'll tell me. I'm responsible for her well being."

"But not at the expense of your own." Emmett punched his shoulder. "Go use the bag for a while. Somewhere in there, you gotta be pissed. Now's the time to let it out—not when you're back at home with that little girl."

Edward pulled himself to his feet. Emmett was right; he needed to keep himself under control around Wisp, and if that meant beating the shit out of a hanging bag at the gym, well, there were worse ways he could channel that anger.

Closing his eyes, he could see again Wisp's last, awful drawing—the detail of the strange man's face told him that she knew this man well. James' eyes were malevolent in his memory, angry and wanting. His whole body tensed, and he heard the comforting squeak of his gloves tightening around his fists.

The first punch felt good—really good. Smooth movement cut short by the jarring strike, an echo of tension running up his arm and neck as his tendons absorbed the shock. The chain jingled, the abrupt sound of contact reverberating through the room. If the man in Wisp's drawing were here, Edward thought, he'd aim for the bastard's mouth first, breaking teeth. Nose, eyes—it was all fair game. He hit lower on the bag, imagining what his fists could do to ribs and sternum, imagining the satisfaction of getting in a good kidney punch. Soft organs would bruise and bleed internally, under the skin.

Only after the guy was helpless, unable to fight back, would Edward go for his dick. Whether the jackass lived or died, he'd never be able to hurt another girl. Never again.

The fantasy was satisfying, but in an uncomfortable way that left Edward feeling sick in his gut when he finally stopped hitting the bag and struggled for breath. This wasn't him. He wasn't a violent man; he practiced for fun in the gym, but had never so much as been in a serious shouting match before James showed up at his door and threw a punch at him. He was...quiet. Reasonable. Funny. Educated. A nice guy.

He wasn't this. He didn't get sick pleasure from the thought of making someone bleed, hurting them to the point, maybe, of death.

His body was telling him, though, that he _did_. It felt good. It felt so damn good, even just in his head. Endorphins, he tried to tell himself. Working out released endorphins, which was why it felt so incredibly satisfying. Even as he thought it, though, he knew it wasn't the whole truth. A workout had never felt like this before. Sparring with Emmett didn't make him ache to hear the crunch of breaking bone against his knuckles or see spatters of blood spilled across the blue mats.

Staggering, he made it to the locker room before throwing up in a garbage can.

This wasn't him. Maybe his life wasn't as simple and easy as Emmett's, but he'd always felt comfortable inside his body and mind. He didn't have problems—no depression, no anxiety, no anger issues. So why did he feel like this?

Edward peeled back the Velcro on his gloves with his teeth before shaking them off. He dug sweaty hands into his hair, pulling hard. Something was wrong, very wrong. He wasn't himself.

"Maybe we should have waited a little while after lunch before pushing so hard."

Edward flinched away from Emmett's too-calm voice. No, that wasn't it. He didn't puke because he'd eaten too much lunch before coming to the gym. There was something else bothering him, something he couldn't understand.

"I need to see her," he said finally, clearing his throat several times. "I need to go home."

"Maybe a run?" Emmett suggested as if he hadn't heard him. "Maybe hitting stuff was too much. Let's put the gloves away and go for a run."

But Wisp's big brown eyes were all he could see when he shut his own. Frightened, calm, sleepy, confused—everything she felt shone in those sweet, beautiful eyes. He wanted the touch of her skin on his palm, warm and clean and soft, wanted the steady pressure of her body tucked against his. He wanted the assurance that she was safe and happy, protected in his house, away from everyone in her past who had contributed to her pain. She was...important.

"Just a run, dude. Come on. It won't kill you."

Edward shook his head. He couldn't. He needed to get back to her. Maybe something was wrong and Rosalie didn't want to call. It had been her idea to get him out of the house in the first place. What if Wisp woke up and panicked? What if Rosalie called Carlisle instead of him? What if Carlisle decided that an Ativan or two was the best way to handle this? Wisp was still wary of Carlisle; she didn't respond well to him. What if—

Emmett's huge hand shaking his shoulder suddenly broke through the confused tumble of Edward's thoughts. "You can't go back yet." His voice was firm but gentle, and there was a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "C'mon, a run will be good."

"You said that about some time on the mats," Edward answered shakily. Worry about Wisp only led to thoughts, once again, of her past and the sick sense of satisfaction he got from imagining beating on the stranger she'd drawn. Immediately he felt sick to his stomach again.

"Yeah, well...I've never seen you look like that before."

Edward felt ashamed. Emmett, one of his closest friends, had witnessed him lose control in the worst way. He was a cop, too. Realistically Edward knew Emmett couldn't dig through his head with some sort of secret police skills, but sometimes it felt like it. Would he know? Would he know how out of control Edward's thoughts had been, and would he judge him for it? Try to move Wisp somewhere else for fear Edward couldn't be trusted?

"I've seen Rosie look that way, though," Emmett added after a moment. "Maybe...maybe you just found something worth fighting for."

* * *

Two hours later, they were finally pulling into the gravel driveway in front of his cabin. Edward had unwillingly agreed to a run but flat-out refused to shower at the gym afterward. There was no point when he could just as easily shower at home, and he didn't want to be away from his Wisp any longer than necessary.

Emmett grumbled the whole way back that Rosalie would give him hell for showing up sweaty and in his gym clothes, but Edward tuned out the complaints. Rosalie could handle Emmett's sweaty self since she was the one so set on Edward getting out of the house.

He turned his key impatiently in the lock and pushed open the door, his eyes searching the small room.

His ears heard her before his eyes found her, curled up on her side next to Rosalie on the floor, her head in the taller woman's lap. Soft, whimpering sobs tore at him, and he was across the floor before he could really think about what he was doing.

"You said you'd call!" He knelt next to the huddled form, sparing not a glance for Rose as he gently pulled Wisp's long hair away from her face. "Hey, don't cry. I'm right here. You're okay. Everything's okay, I promise."

Wet eyelashes fluttered, and with a gasp she struggled to sit up.

"Chill out," Rosalie snapped, shifting away as Edward lifted the girl into his arms. He wasn't listening, though; she could have told him she was giving birth to an alien baby for all he cared. Wisp's dark eyes glowed, her face blissful as he picked her up. Something inside him settled into place, easing the tension in his body. Here she was, warm and safe, perfectly fine. Her cheeks were wet with tears, yes, but at least it wasn't a panic attack. No one had come looking for her. She was okay.

"Edward," she whispered, tucking her head into her favorite spot in the crook of his neck. Her arms slipped around his shoulders and she hugged him with all the strength in her little body.

"Yes." He laughed, but the sound came out a little strangled. "I'm here now. Did you think I wasn't coming back? How could I stay away from such a sweet girl?"

"Edward," she repeated, her breath warm against his collarbone. A satisfied sigh swept through her body.

"Edward, you really need to relax." Rosalie flashed him an irritated look as she climbed to her feet, a hardback book in her hand. "She was _fine_ until just a few minutes ago. She napped and when she woke up, I read to her. I gave her some juice and she fell asleep again—she only started crying when a bad dream woke her up."

"You read to her?" Emmett shot his girlfriend a puzzled look. "Why'd you do that?"

"Don't _you_ start." She put the book on the coffee table and grabbed her bag. "She liked it. Do I know how much she actually understood? No, of course not. But that doesn't mean she can't enjoy it. Maybe a friendly voice is soothing, even if she can't quite tell what it's saying." She eyed Edward. "I'm letting her keep the book so she can look at the pictures, but I don't want you to read it to her. That's our book, hers and mine. Every other day I'll come around to read with her and give you a break."

Edward wanted to protest that he didn't need or want a break, but he didn't quite care enough to open his mouth. He sat on the couch with Wisp in his arms, right where he wanted her. The feel of her body tucked against him was immensely comforting. When he held her, he knew she was safe. He knew she was happy. Nothing else was more important than that.

"She was really okay?" Emmett sounded surprised, and Edward didn't blame him.

"Oh, she looked for him and she tried to cry, but I told her to cut it out and then I distracted her with the book. She was fine after that, like I said, until a bad dream scared her."

Edward shuddered and held her tighter at the thought of what her nightmares might consist of. He wound one hand in her silky hair, stroking his thumb softly through the glinting strands. She was fine, he reminded himself sternly. Her dreams couldn't hurt her. Hopefully, in time, they would fade.

"Huh. If she was okay, Ed, I think that you were actually—"

"Yeah, I get it," Edward said, cutting Emmett off before he could tell Rosalie that Edward had actually been more outwardly affected by the trial separation than Wisp. No doubt Rosalie would hear about it on the ride home, but at least then he didn't have to listen to her comments.

"Edward?"

Wisp's voice was halting, a little unsure, and Edward ducked his head, pulling away just far enough to look in her eyes. "What?" he asked, playing with the ends of her hair. He didn't really expect an answer, but he gave her a chance nonetheless.

Her response wasn't vocal, but the hesitant, pleading look in her eyes meant something; he knew it. "I wish I knew what you want—what you need."

Her lip disappeared between her teeth, and she reached up to brush her nose against his.

"I promise, I'll never abandon you. I'm willing to bet no one has ever made that sort of promise to you before. You need something to believe in—well, right now, I'm it." He moved his free hand, stroking his fingers down the delicate curve of her jaw. She didn't flinch away from his touch like she did with almost everyone else. Her gaze remained steady and candid, even as his fingers brushed her chin and hovered a breath away from her mouth. "You have to know I won't hurt you. I won't make you do anything you don't want to do—I won't even make you eat vinegar." One side of his mouth drew up in a small smile and he let his hand drop to her waist. She echoed his smile, hesitant at first, then wider.

"Yeah," he promised. "You're fine. I have no idea what's going on with me, but we'll figure it out together. Right?"

"Edward," she replied, nestling back against his shoulder.

When Edward looked up, he was a little surprised to see that Emmett and Rose had left. He hadn't heard a thing.

"Are you hungry?" he offered, glancing at the clock. It was a little early for dinner, but she never refused a chance to eat. "If you just woke up, you probably don't want to nap again. Did you really enjoy reading with Rosalie?"

"Rose," she said, reaching for the book on the coffee table. Edward started a little at the sound of a new name coming from her mouth. He was maybe a little irritated at missing a new word, even if it was Rosalie's name. Had Rose taught her to say it, or did Wisp do so on her own?

He watched Wisp open the book, eagerly pushing past the blank pages at the beginning until she found what she wanted—the start of the first chapter and an illustration of Peter Pan. "Peter," she said proudly, pointing to the artwork. "Peter."

"Yeah," Edward agreed, exhaling slowly. "So you liked when Rose read to you, huh? I don't think I have anything in the house you'd be interested in, but maybe Esme does." What was he saying? Of course Esme did. She had all his old childhood books still, everything from _Pat the Bunny_ to _The Hardy Boys_ to _Redwall_. "She might even have some art books—coffee table books, she calls them—that you'd like to look at." For the first time, Edward considered getting a television to put in the cabin. He came here to write, so he didn't feel like he needed the distraction. Wisp, though—she might enjoy it since she liked pictures so much.

She turned pages in the book one at a time, a little awkward but so gentle, as if she was afraid they might shatter in her hands. One at a time, she showed him the illustrations for the first couple of chapters, pointing out Peter wherever he appeared. She could not name the other characters, but Edward didn't care. This had already been a big day for her as far as he was concerned. He desperately hoped drawing that final picture for Garrett hadn't caused her bad dream, and that it wouldn't come back. She had enough to worry about without adding a fear of sleep to the mix.

"I hope you know I'm very proud of you," he said when she closed the book and hugged it to her chest. "You're learning so much. I hope your social worker will agree the next time we see him."

Wisp put the book back on the coffee table with a little sigh, then slid off his lap. He frowned, but his expression cleared when she crawled her way toward the bathroom. "Okay," he said. "You go do that, and I'll find something to start for dinner."

With his head buried in a cabinet, though, he heard a sound he wasn't expecting—the rush of water into the bathtub. Edward straightened with a chuckle. This wasn't their normal routine, but if she wanted a bath first he certainly wasn't going to argue with her. He was a little in love with her taking initiative like that.

Feeling lighter than he had all afternoon, Edward headed to the bathroom to help her bathe. He was a little surprised to find her kneeling next to the tub, still fully clothed. Not that she'd ever really undressed herself except for lowering her pants to use the toilet, but he'd sort of expected her to at least try since she'd turned on the water by herself.

Her beautiful eyes lit up when he entered the bathroom. "Edward," she said happily. "Bath."

"Yeah, I noticed. Do you think maybe you could try undressing yourself?" He leaned down to help ease her out of her shirt, but she ducked away from his hands. Instead, she reached out and began picking at the laces of his running shoes.

When Edward realized what she wanted, he couldn't help the loud, amused laughter that erupted from his chest. "Okay, I get it," he said, chuckling as he kicked off his shoes. "I smell. I can fix that, but I'm not really a bath guy."

She waited, watching expectantly as Edward glanced around the bathroom. He hated just letting the nearly-full bath go to waste, but he certainly wasn't getting in it with her in the room. As cute as it would be if she tried to wash him, there were some lines they needed not to cross and him naked was one of them.

"Okay, how about this. You try a bath by yourself, and I'll jump in the shower at the same time." He shut off the taps, wondering if she would undress herself on her own. Well, he'd be quick. If she didn't, he'd help her once he was out of the shower.

The shower door was frosted glass—opaque enough that she couldn't see anything even if she watched him. Edward hung a towel where he could easily grab it, stepped into the shower stall, and closed the door before removing his clothes and tossing them over. He started the water, a little unsure now. True, she couldn't see him through the frosted glass, but he couldn't see her, either. Nor could he hear anything over the sound of the shower.

Consequently, it was maybe the fastest shower he'd ever taken—enough to clean the sweat of his workout away, but no more. He opened the door just enough to grab his towel, wrapped it around his waist, and stepped out into the bathroom.

She was close to the door, kneeling on the cold tile, still fully clothed and watching him curiously.

"All clean now," he said, showing her the water beading on his arm. "See? Irish Spring smells good, right? Alice doesn't know what she's talking about."

Wisp eyed him, then peered through the door and into the shower stall. She shifted closer, poking a hand in to trail a finger down the inside of the wet glass.

"Do you want a shower instead of a bath?" he asked. "You can if you want, but I won't be able to help you."

She helped him willingly as he eased her out of her clothes, and she crawled slowly into the spacious shower. Edward left the door open, angling the showerhead so it hopefully wouldn't flood the bathroom floor, then turned the water on.

It, unfortunately, caught her in the face, and the inhuman shriek she let out scared him out of his skin. He shut off the water quickly, then grabbed her up from the shower floor.

"Hey," he said, "hey, it's okay. Did it scare you? I'm sorry, little Wisp."

Her arms latched onto him, her legs winding around his towel, and she cried as she scrubbed her cheek against his skin. Edward didn't have time to worry about the situation—a naked girl, he clad only in a towel—because this was clearly more than a startled reaction to water in the face. He sat on the edge of the tub and let her cling to him, holding her as tightly as he dared.

Without a shirt between his hands and her skin, he could feel how thin she still was—the knobs of her spine sharp under his fingers, her ribs prominent even on her back, not just her chest. Her skin was wonderfully smooth and warm, a little damp from the misty bathroom air, tiny beads of sweat slicking the back of her neck when his hand found its way under the heavy drape of her hair.

"I'm sorry, honey," he whispered, "so sorry. You're okay, though—I've got you. I promise, everything's going to be fine. No more showers for you."

Eventually she let him put her in the tub, sniffling a little, her red-rimmed eyes watching him closely.

"I promise I didn't mean to, whatever I did." Edward leaned over the water, pressing his forehead to hers. "I don't know your secrets yet, pretty girl, but I will. In time, we'll get you figured out."

"Bad," she offered, giving the shower stall a little glare.

"Yes," Edward agreed, relief flooding through him that she seemed to be recovering. "It's a very bad shower, and you don't have to use it ever again. But you're a good girl, little Wisp. You know you're not in trouble, right?"

She regarded him carefully for a long moment, her hands gripping the side of the tub before she raised one and pressed her wet palm to his cheek. "Good. Good Edward."

A long sigh left his chest, ruffling her soft hair. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that."

* * *

_A/N: I've practiced many, many different martial arts in my life and currently train at a girls-only MMA studio that's really informal, and I love it! I don't watch UFC, so no, I can't answer questions about that for you, sorry!_

_I love you all, duckies, and I will be happy when we can all go back to bitching about normal things. You know, like Edward vs Jacob, or why Tanya is always a bitch in fanfiction. (Yes, I know you're now going to flood me with story recs where she isn't; I can deal with that.) ;-) _

_Oh, and for what it's worth, if I were in Bella's place, I would have chosen Jacob. But Bella isn't me, and I think she belongs with Edward. So there, my two cents. One for each side. ;-)_


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: What, updates two days in a row? It's because two fabulous ladies on Twitter guessed the correct answer to a trivia game. ;-) _

_Also, come wander around my blog! Ooza told me I had to have one. dconioned dot blogspot dot com. Over the weekend I'm going to upload a FAQ about Wisp, and you'll want to check it out. Plus, it's candy colored - like unicorn vomit!_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

Edward didn't even try to put Wisp in her room that night. Her arms tightened around him when he carried her up the stairs, and she buried her head against his shoulder. He got the picture.

She settled on top of him easily enough once Edward lay down, yawning into his t-shirt. Everything she did was so honest, so pure. He loved that about her. The way she'd become like this wasn't even remotely okay, but he wondered if there might be a way, somehow, for other people to keep that sort of sweetness without the sort of cruel treatment she'd been exposed to.

"You know, by all rights, you shouldn't be like this," he said. It was an ambiguous statement, but true in so many ways. "I mean, so sweet and honest. With what you've been subjected to, you'd have every right to just curl up in a little ball and never trust anyone again."

Wisp settled her forearms across his chest and rested her chin on them, regarding him intently as he spoke. When she looked at him like that, so serious, so open, he could almost pretend she understood him.

"But you do. You trust me, right?" His hands grasped her waist, trailed up and down her back in slow movements. "I really hope so, because tomorrow we're going to go see Jasper at his office. It won't be pleasant for you, but I promise to be with you the whole time. I wish I could explain to you that no one will hurt you, but I don't think you'd believe that just now."

He knew she needed to see a doctor, not only for her knees but also to make sure there was nothing wrong with her that they weren't aware of, but Edward was fully aware that this would not be a simple, easy trip. At least Jasper had blocked out double the normal time, so they didn't have to rush her.

"I promise," he said, shifting on the bed to get more comfortable, "once we're done, you can come home and do whatever you want. Play with Pet or look at pictures in your book, or just sit with me if that's what you need. I'll get you something special to eat, too. If Jasper says you can handle it, tomorrow I'll introduce you to dessert."

She smiled when he tickled her sides lightly, and he wished he could hear her laugh again. It was the sweetest sound.

"What's your name?" he asked suddenly, bringing the blankets up to surround them, drawing them close around her shoulders. "You'll always be my little Wisp and I hope you know that. No matter what happens down the road, I won't forget you. But you _had_ to have a name at some point. And you had to have a family—I don't give a fuck what that asshole says. Honey, what's your name?"

She watched him with those big, gentle eyes; he'd do anything she asked when she looked at him like that, if only he knew what it was she wanted.

"Name," he said slowly. "You had one before. Name, sweetheart."

No response.

"Edward." He jabbed his chest with his index finger. "I'm Edward. Who are you?"

"Edward," she replied easily, her face breaking into a beautiful smile as she patted his chest with one hand. "Edward."

He sighed. Clearly this wasn't going to get him anywhere. "Yeah," he agreed. "I'm Edward. And I guess you're still Wisp for now, huh?"

"Wisp," she agreed. "Edward. Wisp. Rose. Peter."

Edward smiled. He couldn't be too disappointed—not when she looked so proud of herself. "Yes. Maybe tomorrow we'll add Jasper to that list. Let's go to sleep now, okay? I have a feeling we're both going to need it."

He reached over and turned off the bedside lamp, and the room turned dark. Wisp inhaled a deep breath and snuggled into his chest, and Edward couldn't help tightening his arms around her. She wiggled against him, craning her neck to brush her lips against his jaw before settling back in her accustomed spot.

That weird feeling was back. Not the sick feeling from the gym, but the warm, gooey one that only she managed to give him. "Good night, pretty girl."

* * *

Esme showed up at the cabin about a half hour before they needed to leave. Edward felt a deep sense of relief at his aunt's extremely timely appearance. "Oh, thank god," he said. "I was trying to figure out how this was all going to work, and—"

"You know you can ask for help, right?" She smiled at Wisp, who was playing on the floor with her kitten. "You don't have to try to do this alone."

"I couldn't do it alone." It was the truth, and Edward wasn't afraid to admit it. Without Rosalie's frank advice, Alice's big heart, Jasper's calm and skill…yeah, taking on this responsibility on his own would be impossible, and he knew it.

"I know your friends have been helping you. You know Carlisle isn't upset, right? And you know he's just as anxious as the rest of us to make sure she's okay? You can ask us for help, too. Like he said, you're our son. We want to help for her sake, but also for yours."

"You know you're the best, right?"

Esme smirked. "You're just saying that because you know I brought food." She gestured to the bag in her hand, which Edward quickly relieved her of. "What's the game plan?"

"Uh…" He thought about it as he stowed the casserole dish in the refrigerator and put a large Tupperware container on the counter. He couldn't see inside the colored plastic but he suspected from the tantalizing smell that Esme's thoughts mirrored his own from last night—sugar was definitely the way to beg forgiveness after this trip. "Well, since you're here…" Stepping back into the living room, he couldn't hide his smile. Esme was on the floor with Wisp, seemingly unconcerned for her immaculate-though-casual clothes. They each held one end of a string between them, and Pet hung from the middle, grasping furiously with her tiny forelegs as she dangled a couple of inches off the floor. Wisp's giggles were sweet as music to him, and he watched as the kitten dropped back to the carpet, then leapt for the string again.

"Such a wonderful idea," Esme approved. "A pet is just perfect, Edward. She can love it and learn to take care of it."

"Yeah, that was the idea." He refrained from explaining the multiple meltdowns the cat had caused. Another day—right now they had other problems to worry about.

"Pet," Wisp echoed. She tried to pick up the kitten, but the furry little thing was in a feisty mood and it swiped at her hand.

"Careful," Edward warned, but Wisp had already offered her hand again. The kitten promptly bit her finger, but Wisp only giggled. Apparently kitten teeth weren't as dangerous as kitten claws.

"If you don't mind, I'm more than happy to drive," Esme suggested. "Then you can sit in the back with her and try to keep her calm. Carlisle sent over a couple of Ativan if she needs it, but he agrees with Jasper that they'll get better baseline stats if she's not medicated."

"I want to avoid medication as much as possible anyway," Edward said firmly. "I don't want her associating us with that hospital where they kept her drugged all the time."

Esme didn't argue with him, instead clearing away the cat toys littering the floor. "Shall we go, then? I know she doesn't have a jacket, but we won't be outside except to walk to the car."

Edward pulled on his own light jacket, watching Wisp play with her kitten. "I wish we could warn her. The only time she's left the cabin so far was when Dr. Lawton took her."

"Well, that woman isn't anywhere near us now, so hopefully she'll be okay. You're going with her this time, after all."

Edward hoped Esme was right. He offered Wisp his arms, and she willingly let him pick her up. "We're going to go see Jasper," he told her, watching her big brown eyes. It was hard to concentrate with a kitten attacking his ankles. "I'll be with you the whole time, I promise, and then we'll come right back here. Okay?"

"Pet?" She leaned over his shoulder to look at the kitten on the floor.

"No, Pet can't come with us, I'm afraid. She'll be here waiting when we come back." _And I hope she won't have destroyed the house in the meantime_, Edward added silently.

Wisp didn't object as Edward carried her toward the door, but her body grew tense when she watched Esme open it and head outside. "Edward," she pleaded, winding her fists in the material of his jacket, holding him as tightly as she could. "_Edward_!"

"Shh," he soothed as she struggled in his arms, somehow managing to wiggle into a position where she could wrap her legs around his waist. Edward remembered all too well that the last time he'd carried her outside, he'd put her into the back of a car and let it drive away. Well, not this time. Not without him. "I promise, little Wisp—I swear, you're not going back there. I couldn't do that again, not to you. Honey, please, try to calm down."

She began to cry—big, hopeless sobs that shook her delicate body even as she clung to him. Edward somehow maneuvered them both into the back of his Volvo, letting Esme take the wheel.

"Poor thing." His aunt watched them through the rearview mirror. "Poor baby."

"You're okay," he whispered, settling awkwardly in the seat. He couldn't exactly lean back with her ankles locked behind him. "See, I'm coming, too. We're just going to run an errand, and then we'll come home. I promise."

She ignored him, continuing to cling tightly to him. "Bad," she managed to choke out. "Bad, bad!"

"What's bad?" Edward asked, nodding for Esme to start the car. There was no guarantee he could calm her down soon, and they needed to make their appointment. "The car? The hospital? You're not going back there. You need to sit in your seat, though, so I can put your seat belt on."

"Let her stay where she is," Esme suggested as she adjusted the driver's seat and mirrors. "Your windows are tinted and we're not going far."

Edward gave up arguing that particular point. His heart hurt, hearing her pain and unable to help. He held her close, running one hand up and down her back, wishing he could do more. "You're okay," he told her. "Shh. You're fine. Such a brave girl. Such a good girl. We're just going to go see Jasper."

She gave up not long before they pulled in to the parking lot. She didn't calm so much as she…slumped against him, her grip going slack. Edward didn't know if she had tired herself out or if she had decided fighting was useless. Either way, guilt welled up in his belly. Yes, she needed to see the doctor, but he'd been the one to call Jasper and push the issue. Maybe she wasn't ready. Maybe they should have waited.

She did not stop crying, though the little whimpers that escaped her throat had definitely decreased in volume. Edward nuzzled her hair as they pulled to a stop in the parking lot. "It's okay," he said, unable to stop himself even though he doubted the words meant anything to her. "You're fine. You're okay."

"Why don't you wait here for now?" Esme suggested. "I'll go talk to the receptionist and see if we can't fix it so she doesn't have to sit in the waiting room."

Edward shuddered. No, the waiting room was definitely not a good idea if they could avoid it.

"Hey," he said, holding Wisp's trembling body close. His shoulder was uncomfortably damp where she'd cried on him, but he didn't care. "Hey, can you look at me? I promise, you're not being abandoned. You're such a good girl."

"Bad," she whispered, refusing to lift her head. "Bad Wisp."

"No—honey, no." Edward slipped two fingers under her chin and urged her face up. Her skin was blotched white and red from the force of her tears, and her lashes were wet and stuck together. "You're a very good Wisp. Good girl." He let the back of his fingers trail down her warm, sticky cheek, the soft, telltale croon creeping back into his voice. It was something he'd only ever used with her. "Little Wisp, you have no idea. You're not bad, and I'm not getting rid of you. This isn't punishment. I wish we didn't have to do it, but this really is important."

She shuddered and dropped her chin, huddling against him once more. Edward wrapped her tightly in his arms and gave up—she wouldn't understand until he could prove to her that he wasn't abandoning her, and he'd have to live with that.

Esme came back after a few minutes, beckoning to him. "Jasper's so thoughtful—he already warned the receptionist, and they have a room waiting. We can go right in."

Edward wasn't thrilled with the idea of carrying her through the waiting room, but it was far better than actually having to sit in there. He maneuvered out of the car with only a little trouble, slipping one arm under her rear and gripping her back with the other. Carrying her like this was awkward, but she didn't seem likely to let him put her down anytime soon.

Wisp thankfully was quiet as they entered the building, though tears still dripped onto his shoulder. He could feel the curious eyes of mothers and their children—this was a pediatric clinic, after all—but kept his eyes focused forward as he carried his terrified girl through the waiting area, down a hall, and into a nondescript treatment room.

"A nurse will be in with you shortly," the receptionist said, and the glance she gave Edward was sympathetic. "Poor kid. Jasper said to do whatever we could to make her comfortable."

"We appreciate it," Esme told her smoothly. "Thank you. I know this is a little irregular, but she really needs a doctor's care."

Edward sat on the exam table, the crinkle of paper loud in the otherwise silent room. There was only one other chair and the doctor's stool. "Well, that went a little worse than I had hoped."

"She's scared silly, poor baby. And can you blame her? I didn't even think about the last time you tried to put her in a car."

"Yeah," Edward agreed. "I thought the fact that I went with her would help."

"It probably did." Esme stood near them and pulled Wisp's hair gently away from her face, stroking the long strands gently. "You know, there's no shame in admitting she might need the Ativan."

Edward knew that; he did. But he had strong feelings about drugging her after seeing what she looked like in that hospital. She couldn't take meds voluntarily, and giving them to her without her consent just felt…wrong.

A soft knock on the door alerted them to someone's presence, but Edward was a little surprised when it was Jasper who walked in, not a nurse.

"Hi." He smiled sympathetically. "I didn't think this was going to be easy."

"Not to be ungrateful, but what are you doing here?"

Jasper shrugged as he settled on the stool and opened the chart in his hand. "I'm capable of handling this, and I thought it would make her calmer if we limited the number of strangers she had to interact with."

Edward exhaled. "Thanks, man."

"I'm sworn to do no harm, right? I figure emotional harm is just as bad as physical malpractice." He stepped to the side of the examination table and tapped Wisp on the shoulder. "Hi, cutie pie. Do you remember me?"

She was reluctant to lift her head, but once she did Edward thought he saw a flash of recognition in her eyes.

"Maybe you can understand me and maybe you can't, but I'm going to explain everything before I do it anyway, okay?"

Already Edward could feel his own self relaxing, though Wisp still shook in his arms. Jasper really was a perfect pediatrician—calm and soothing, full of a quiet confidence that put his patients at ease…most of the time, anyway.

"First we're going to check your vitals," he told Wisp, "and then we'll move on to any other concerns. I know everyone is worried about your knees, particularly." He pulled something out of his pocket. "I know this is usually saved for the end, but I'm thinking with you we might try it now." Jasper pulled the wrapper off a red Tootsie-Roll Pop and offered her the candy.

Edward watched as the girl in his arms stared at the sucker as if she had no idea what to do with it.

"You try, Edward," Jasper suggested. "I promise, distraction works wonders with patients who don't understand explanations."

Edward took the white stick in his own hand and offered it to Wisp. She looked at it again, then tipped her head up to him helplessly.

"Like this." He popped the sucker in his mouth for a moment, then offered it to her again. "I think you'll like it." Apparently _everyone_ was on the same page about rewarding her with sugar.

She took the stick in a hesitant hand, her pink tongue flicking out to taste. Edward couldn't help but be amused when her eyes lit and she shoved the candy in her mouth, sucking happily.

"Now let's see what we can do while she's distracted," Jasper said with a grin.

They managed to untangle her from around Edward, though she insisted on remaining in his lap. She let Jasper shine a light in her eyes and ears, check her reflexes, and listen to her heart and lungs without so much as a peep, and she only whimpered a little bit when the blood pressure cuff tightened around her arm.

"I'd love a height and weight," Jasper said, eying the scale. "Edward, do you think we could weigh you both with and without her?"

"Uhh…I'm not so sure she'd be too happy about that."

Nor was she. Wisp clutched him with her free hand when he tried to put her down, only letting go when Esme sat beside her and offered her arms. She nestled against Edward's mother figure, watching suspiciously as Jasper weighed him.

"I'm not going anywhere," Edward promised, but she didn't relax until he picked her up again.

"About eighty-five pounds," Jasper said, shaking his head a little as Edward stepped off the scale a second time. "We need to get your weight up, missy."

"How is she otherwise?" Anxiety rolled up Edward's spine. "The bloodwork Carlisle ran when we first found her—do you have the results? Is she okay?"

"Yeah, I have it; I'd like to pull another sample today to see how much improvement there's been." Jasper smiled reassuringly. "She's got a long way to go, but so far there's nothing wrong that we can't fix. She's underweight and suffering from malnutrition, which shouldn't be a surprise to anyone. Small, regular meals are important to get her metabolism working again. You mentioned to me before that she naps after meals?"

"Mostly, yeah," Edward agreed.

"Her body is working hard to digest; it's using up an inordinate amount of energy, which is what puts her to sleep. Eventually she'll get over it, though for now I'd say to let her sleep as much as she wants. It won't hurt her, and her body needs time to recover from what it's been through." He scribbled some notes in her chart. "Her iron is extremely low—in fact, I'd imagine that she's suffering from deficiencies of just about every vitamin you could name. A supplement is an absolute must right now, not a recommendation."

"I'm not sure how to even begin explaining how to swallow a pill."

Jasper waved off the concern. "Children's chewable or gummy vitamins are fine for now—I'll write down recommendations for the best kinds. I'd also recommend a chewable calcium supplement and plenty of dairy products—assuming they don't disagree with her digestion, of course. If we assume her malnutrition is long-standing, which I do, her bones are at high risk. Since there's no way to know what sort of diet she had as a child, we'll just have to do the best we can now."

Edward rubbed his chin against Wisp's head. The news was troubling, but not as troubling as it could have been. So far, there was nothing urgent. Vitamin and mineral deficiencies they could deal with.

Jasper shifted on his stool and put Wisp's chart down, and the way his soft eyes looked at Edward made him hold Wisp tighter. "What aren't you telling us?"

"There's no easy way to say it. She needs a pelvic exam, Edward. She's obviously been sexually assaulted—I don't think any of us are in dispute about that. I'm also a little concerned about the hormone levels in her blood."

Edward tensed even further. What exactly was Jasper saying? "Do you think she could be pregnant?"

"Shit, no." The professional doctor's mask slipped for an instant, and Jasper was just his friend again in that moment—a concerned friend. "Just the opposite, actually."

"The opposite of pregnant? Like…not pregnant?" He really wasn't in the mood for guessing games.

"Push that a little further." Jasper smiled reassuringly. "I'm saying that I don't think she's experienced menarche yet. If she's been malnourished since before puberty, I'm not surprised. Have you seen evidence of a menstrual cycle?"

"No," Edward admitted. In fact, he hadn't even considered that aspect of taking care of a girl past puberty. "When do you think she might…?"

Jasper shrugged. "Hard to say. It depends on how quickly her body bounces back. She's awfully little—it's possible she may actually grow some more if we can get the right nutrients into her. If J—if _he_ told the truth about her age, she's young enough that it's a possibility but old enough that it's not a guarantee."

Edward held her close. She'd reached the center of the Tootsie Pop and was busily trying to bite all the sticky chocolate stuff off the stick. "You want to do an exam? Like, today?"

"Well, she's already here." Jasper lifted one side of his mouth in commiseration. "I know she won't like it. But if there's internal damage from an assault, the sooner we find it, the better."

No, she definitely wasn't going to like it, and neither was he. But more than that, Edward knew he needed to tell Jasper what had happened a couple of nights ago—her continued assumption that he wanted sex from her. It was necessary information if Jasper was going to touch her like that, because Edward was willing to bet she wouldn't understand the difference between sexual touch and a clinical exam.

"Okay," he said finally, rubbing his hand up and down Wisp's arm. "But there's something you need to know first."

* * *

_A/N: Oh, come on, it was only like half a cliffhanger at best, so no complaining! Mwah! Loves you, duckies!_


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: This update is in honor of Pet, because today is Black Cat Appreciation Day. And also for my UK Consultant and all around great person, hev99, whose birthday is tomorrow. Happy birthday, beautiful!_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

And so, because Jasper was a doctor—_Wisp's_ doctor, committed to her well being just as much as Edward was—Edward told him everything.

He explained all the evidence. The incident with the cat food, which Jasper had already heard from Alice. Her refusal to use furniture, and her cluelessness about things like utensils and table manners. Some of it was review of things Jasper already knew, but Edward tried to find the little details that supported his hunch. Esme grew pale in her seat as she listened to the description of Wisp's meltdown over the litter box, and Edward tried to avoid looking at anything but the girl in his arms.

"I...can't say that I'm sure I did the right thing. I know her social worker would be furious if he knew, but shit—I couldn't just—" Edward shook his head, swallowing hard. There weren't words to explain how he felt that night. "She's so hurt, Jazz. I was trying to show her. She has a hand, I have a hand, stuff like that. I don't know how much really got through to her, but she hasn't tried to use the box again."

"It's...definitely nothing I've ever come across before," Jasper said, observing Wisp with a clinical eye. Edward couldn't tell what his friend was thinking. "A girl trained to be a pet—an animal."

"Pet?" Wisp turned her head, observing Edward quizzically.

"Pet is safe and happy at home," he assured her, rubbing her back. "We'll go see her when we're through here."

"You certainly do pick up on things quickly," Jasper told her, smiling.

"She does," Edward agreed. "It kills me that that psychologist called her retarded—I don't think she is at all. I think she's incredibly intelligent, and was just never given the tools or the opportunity to develop properly."

"It's as reasonable an assumption as any other." Jasper watched him with calm, compassionate eyes. "What's the rest of the story?"

Edward grit his teeth. This was the part he wasn't looking forward to explaining. "When I touched her," he said slowly, "she lay back and opened her legs. Like, like she expected me to—" He shook his head. "I didn't, I swear I didn't. But if you're going to try to give her an exam, you need to know. She doesn't understand—she thinks—"

Jasper held up his hand. "It's okay, Edward. I get it." He shifted on his stool, watching Wisp as she nestled in Edward's arms and played with the empty stick from her sucker. "It's something I wish I didn't have to know—I wish nobody had to know. But victims of childhood sexual abuse will often act out sexually. It doesn't mean you did anything inappropriate to trigger her response. It doesn't mean she really _wants_ you to touch her sexually. It just means that this is what she knows. It's her...comfort zone, if that makes sense. Everything around her is new and frightening, and even though it's a damn sight better than what she's used to, humans are creatures of habit. She doesn't understand, she doesn't know what you want from her, and she's trying to hide in the comfort of what she knows. Does that make sense?"

Yes, it made a lot of sense. Edward felt more than a little relieved now that he had admitted to everything that happened that night and no one seemed to be blaming him for it. Maybe he should have known better, but at least Jasper wasn't talking about taking her away from him.

"It's a fascinating case, you have to admit." Jasper sat back, leaning against the counter behind him. "There are people who incorporate consensual animal roleplay into their sexual lives and personas, but this goes way, way beyond that."

"I believe the word 'consensual' is the important one in that sentence," Edward said darkly. "She didn't consent to anything; if someone tries to claim she did, I won't believe it."

"You shouldn't. If she's been this brainwashed, the abuse has to be long-standing." Jasper nodded his head thoughtfully. "She needs an expert to help her. Unfortunately, I'm not sure there _is_ one. Deprogramming, like with ex-cult members, usually involves a lot of talk therapy."

"And that's just not an option with her right now." Edward frowned, tucking Wisp's head under his chin. Was she condemned to this strange sort of half-life until they somehow managed to get her talking again? What if they couldn't—not to the point where complex thoughts and ideas could be explained? For the first time, Edward seriously began to doubt his ability to handle this. Sure, they could fix whatever physically was wrong with her. They could mend whatever was wrong with her knees, give her food and a safe place to rest. But how could they convince her that it was okay to be a person—a real, actualized person, whole and fully functioning, secure in herself and her humanity? She was learning so much, but for the first time Edward really looked hard at how much farther she needed to go. She had a handful of words—just a handful, most of which were names. She expressed displeasure with tears, and had only just started to laugh a day or two ago. Realistically, how would she _ever_ be able to fend for herself? He couldn't picture her buying groceries, or renting an apartment, or holding down a job. And yes, there were social services to help with those things, but still. Was he really willing to take on this task? Sisyphean, Carlisle had called it. Was he ready to help her for as long as it took—really, truly?

She shifted in his arms, tipping her head up, and the moment those huge brown eyes met his, Edward knew the answer.

Yes.

He saw intelligence there, hiding in her curious gaze. Like he'd said so many times to so many different people, she _was_ smart. Smart and strong, to have survived thus far. Everyone in her life had given up on her—well, he wasn't going to. She deserved better than that.

Edward smiled at her upturned face, the delicate lines of her cheekbones, the lush sweep of her still-damp eyelashes. Such a beautiful girl. Carlisle was right—beauty plus vulnerability was a bad combination, and it had affected her in the worst possible way. She should have had a protective father—a daddy to intimidate boys who wanted to take her on dates, to wait up until she got home every single time, just to make sure she was safe. Not this. Whatever had happened to her, the dark details he wasn't sure he ever wanted to know, she didn't deserve it.

"Well," he said slowly, "we'll figure it out." He kissed her forehead, pressing his lips to the soft skin. "Whatever we have to do, we'll figure it out."

"What we have to figure out right now," Jasper said, "is a pelvic exam. Esme, I'd like you to stay as a female witness, if you think you can handle it?"

Edward wasn't sure at all that his aunt could handle it, but she nodded and he wasn't going to argue despite the tears in her eyes.

"And, Edward, I'm assuming you're staying?"

"Can you figure out how to do it otherwise?" The words were light, but he _really_ wasn't looking forward to this. Wisp was going to freak out. She was going to go ballistic, and he'd already been the cause of one meltdown today. He wasn't looking forward to forcing another one. "I don't think all the candy in the world is going to make this any easier."

"I know," Jasper said, looking regretful. "But it's important for her health; you know that."

Yes, Edward knew that, otherwise he wouldn't have agreed to it.

"Let's get her changed." Jasper opened a cupboard and offered Edward a thin, faded cotton gown that tied in the back. "She'll have to wear this for her x-rays anyway."

Edward took a deep breath. This was it. "Hey, little Wisp," he said, taking the empty candy stick away and passing it to Esme to toss in the trash, "we're going to change you into some different clothes, okay?" Just one step at a time, he told himself. She didn't mind changing clothes; this part was easy. "Can she keep her socks on? She's kind of big on socks." It wasn't much, but he aimed to give her every tiny bit of comfort he could.

"Socks are fine," Jasper said, and the smile he gave Wisp was gentle. "We'll make this as easy as we can, I promise."

She sat quietly on Edward's lap as he and Esme helped her out of her long-sleeved shirt and soft sweat pants, sliding the thin little gown over her front and tying it behind her neck. The pale blue pattern was almost obscured by so many washings, and Edward didn't at all like the feel of the pilled fabric. It felt like the doctor's office—like so many people had been in and out of it. Not germy exactly, but he nonetheless did not want it against his Wisp's skin.

"You sure you're qualified to do this?" he asked nervously as Esme removed Wisp's underwear and smoothed the gown over her legs. "I mean, you're a pediatrician."

Jasper, thankfully, did not look offended. "I take care of teenage girls—even a few older ones when they're home from college. Pediatrics spans a huge developmental timeline. I know what I'm doing."

Yeah, Edward knew that. He just wished they didn't have to do it at all.

Jasper busied himself pulling out equipment, placing it on a metal tray. Wisp watched silently; she didn't look wary, but her body was still tense. Edward rubbed her bare back gently, soothingly, running his thumb over knobs of spine that almost felt like they might break through her thin, tender skin. "You're fine," he murmured into her hair, glancing over at Esme, who was nervously folding and re-folding Wisp's discarded clothes. "You're just fine."

"Okay," Jasper said finally. "Now here's the question. How are we going to do this? Do you think she'll lie quietly on the table?"

Edward raised an eyebrow. No, she certainly was _not_ going to lie quietly on the table, if past experience could be trusted. She'd sat in his lap and Esme's, but refused to actually sit on the thing herself. And Jasper thought they could get her to lie down on it?

"Yeah, that's kind of what I was thinking. So, what do you suggest?"

Well, the floor was definitely out. Edward shuddered at the thought of what sort of germs might be lurking on the floor of a doctor's office, no matter how much the staff tried to clean. Especially a pediatrician's office. Didn't kids, like, puke a lot? He looked helplessly at Jasper, and narrowed his eyes at the look on his friend's face. "No," he said flatly. "No, I am _not_ going to lay down with her on top of me. Yes, she sleeps in my bed, but I'm drawing the line here. That's just...sick. Wrong."

"The only other option I see is the Ativan," Jasper said softly.

"_No_."

"Edward, there's no shame in admitting that she needs a little chemical help to calm down. That's what the medication is for."

"I'm not going to drug her!" Not after he'd seen her in the hospital, terrified and drugged out of her mind. It wasn't fair. She couldn't consent to taking medication, after all.

"She needs an exam, and these are the two options," Jasper said. "I'm sorry, Edward. You're her guardian. You need to make a choice."

Edward hated it. He absolutely hated it. Choosing between these two options didn't even really feel like a choice. They were both horrible, as far as he was concerned.

"Do what's right for her, Edward," Esme said softly, hugging Wisp's clothes to her chest as if seeking comfort. "What will make this easiest for her?"

Edward removed a hand from Wisp's little body, tugging hard at his hair. "Fine," he said, squeezing his eyes shut. "But just _one_ Ativan. Enough to keep her calm, but not knock her out."

Jasper was gone and back once the words were said, returning with a chocolate pudding cup and a plastic spoon. Esme shook one little pill out of the container in her purse, and Jasper hid it in a spoonful of pudding.

"Edward?"

He hated to be the one to actually drug her, but at the moment she didn't want to accept food from Jasper. Steeling himself, he took the spoon and offered it to her.

Wisp sniffed cautiously at the unknown food, flicking her eyes up to Edward warily before accepting the bite. Once the flavor hit her tongue she swallowed quickly and her eyes locked on the cup in Jasper's hand.

"After," Jasper promised her. "Once we're done, you can have the whole thing."

The good thing about Ativan, Edward supposed, was that it worked remarkably quickly. Within five minutes she slumped against his chest, the tension literally melting out of her muscles.

"Put her down now, Edward," Jasper urged. "See what she does."

Edward hugged her loose little body close. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I hope you can forgive me, but this is really important. I promise, I wouldn't make you do it otherwise."

Wisp blinked sleepily at him. Even one Ativan was clearly a lot for her small frame. Her eyes fluttered as he stood and set her carefully down on the crinkly paper-covered table.

"Shh," he soothed when she tried to sit up and reach for him. "I'm right here, and so is Esme. We're not going anywhere." It felt like a literal punch to his gut when tears welled in her hazy eyes.

"I'm going to touch her now, Edward." Jasper's voice was soft, soothing and calm. Edward felt anything but soothed. "Hold her hand or whatever you like. You can try distracting her."

Edward slipped his hand into hers, squeezing gently, and pressed his other palm to her cheek. "You're fine," he said, even as he couldn't help but watch Jasper out of the corner of his eye. The clink of the metal stirrups was loud in the tense room, and he flinched. Wisp echoed the movement, and he heard another whimper leave her throat as Jasper moved first one, then another leg into position.

"Bad," she whispered, her voice rough. "Bad." She tried to move her legs, but Jasper's hand prevented her. "Bad doc-doctor."

Edward leaned toward her, frowning intently. "Jasper's a good doctor," he said carefully. "He wants to help you. Did you know a bad doctor before, honey?"

"Bad doctor." The threatened tears began, rolling out of the corners of her eyes and falling into her hair. "Bad!" The medicine was working to keep her from an all-out panic attack, but she certainly wasn't happy about any of this.

"She's holding still," Jasper said. "Distract her please, Edward."

Hating himself, Edward dropped his forehead to rest against Wisp's. He could feel the hot pulses of her frightened breath against his cheek, and he wished he could help. He wished he could stop this.

A high-pitched squeal left her mouth and she tried to tense, but her body was under the medication's control, not hers. Edward heard a quiet click.

"The speculum is in place," Esme whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Jasper, please be quick."

"As quick and gentle as I can," he vowed. "I don't want her unhappy any more than you do."

Edward stayed where he was. He didn't want to watch, didn't want to do anything but soothe the distraught girl on the table. She panted, her breaths quick and tense, her eyelashes brushing his cheek every time she blinked.

"Oh," Jasper said after a moment. The clink of his gloved fingers on the metal tray made Edward flinch again. A moment later Wisp did, too. She jerked against Edward, a small cry leaving her mouth.

"Bad!" she insisted. "Edward, ow!"

"I know," he said helplessly. "I know." What else could he possibly say? What could he do? "Jasper, hurry the hell up!"

"Her cervix is scarred and inflamed. I'm going to try to collect cells for a pap smear, but she's bleeding already. I can't guarantee the results will be valid at all."

Edward grit his teeth. She was truly crying now, sobbing quietly, and he knew this couldn't be pleasant even with the Ativan. "Just hurry," he pleaded. "She's had enough."

"Bad doctor!" she repeated through her tears. "Bad!"

And what was that all about? Had she known a doctor before? One who hurt her? Or was she just trying to tell Jasper that enough was enough?

"Okay," Jasper said finally. "Okay, I'm done."

Wisp's body went limp a moment later, and Edward made himself turn. He watched as Jasper turned back to the tray, and he couldn't help but stare for a long moment at the bright red blood on the end of the clear plastic speculum. That...wasn't normal, was it? He knew women hated going in for these exams, but was it really this bad?

Slowly he pulled Wisp back into his arms, sitting on the table and letting her curl up on his lap. She sobbed into his shoulder as Jasper prepared the sample. "Esme," he said, "there are panty liners in that top cupboard. You can put one in her underwear, if you like. She'll probably have some discharge today."

"I know the drill." Esme's voice was tight, full of compassion for the girl in Edward's arms. She applied the liner and helped Wisp back into her panties without a word, but Edward could see the tight, unhappy line of her mouth. This whole mess was stressful for all of them, not just Wisp.

"Why was she bleeding like that?" Edward demanded, letting Wisp tuck her head against his shoulder, hiding in her favorite spot. "Is that normal? What's wrong? What's scarred?"

Jasper sealed the sample and set the tray aside on the counter to be dealt with later. "Here," he said, reaching for a book on a shelf and thumbing through it until he found a diagram of the female reproductive system. "This is the cervix, right here, between the vagina and uterus. Hers is scarred, which can happen during surgical procedures or through trauma. It's also inflamed, and bled when I touched it. I'm going to send you home with some antibiotics just in case, but these things can often happen without infection. Some women find it pleasurable to have their cervix bumped during sex, and others are much more tender. This little one seems to be the latter." He gave Edward a commiserating look.

"You mean to tell me that those bastards fucked her so hard that she's scarred?" Edward demanded.

"I can't say for sure. Like I said, it's not necessarily trauma. Surgery can cause scarring. Some infections can, too."

"Realistically, what's the more likely scenario?"

Jasper didn't answer.

"And the bleeding?"

"Like I said, she probably has an extremely sensitive cervix, but an infection isn't out of the question. When we take a blood sample I'll check for STIs—Carlisle didn't do that the first time."

Edward tightened his arms around Wisp. The last thing she needed was for some filthy asshole to have given her a disease from sex she didn't even want. It wasn't _fair_.

"Poor baby." Esme touched her hair with a trembling hand.

"Bad doctor," Wisp repeated.

"Who is the bad doctor, honey?" Edward urged her out of her hiding spot. "Come on, please? Can you tell me just a little more? I know you've been so brave today, little Wisp. We're almost done, I promise."

"I'm not a bad doctor." Jasper offered her the rest of the pudding cup.

"Bad doctor," Wisp repeated, staring suspiciously at the treat in his hand. "Doctor bad."

"Doctor what?" Edward prompted, taking the spoon from the pudding and lifting it to her mouth. She accepted the bite from him, rolling the chocolate goop around her mouth, savoring the taste.

"Doctor bad," Wisp repeated after she had swallowed. She looked expectantly at the empty spoon before a grimace passed over her face and she pressed her hand low against her abdomen.

"She may have some mild cramping," Jasper cautioned. "It's not uncommon. Some children's chewable Tylenol should help."

"I don't really like the thought of pumping her full of so much medicine," Edward said, even though he knew he wouldn't keep painkillers away from her. Not even for something Jasper called mild. He spooned up another bite of pudding and gave it to her as Jasper readied her left arm to take a blood sample.

She sat through the procedure relatively calmly, most of her attention focused on the pudding. Edward prompted her a few more times to tell him more about the "bad doctor," but she only repeated what she had said before.

"I'm a good doctor," Jasper said after he put a little Band-Aid on the inside of her elbow. "Doctor Jasper, can you say that?"

She eyed him speculatively. "Bad doctor."

"No, cutie pie. I'm Doctor Jasper, the good doctor. I want to do everything I can to help you."

Wisp turned her head to regard Edward for a long moment, then looked at Jasper again. "Doctor Jasper?"

His face split into a wide smile. "That's right. Good doctor Jasper."

"Good doctor Jasper," she repeated, and then her face wrinkled into a grimace of distaste. "Bad doctor Gerandy."

* * *

_A/N: On my blog at dconioned dot blogspot dot com I have a FAQ for Wisp. Ask me a question there or on twitter (at judo_lin) and I'll add it to the FAQ. :)_

_I am not a gynecologist. I am a researcher with a vagina, though. ;-) Mwah! Till Thursday, duckies!_


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: Hi, duckies! Okay, for reals, next week (barring another fandom meltdown) I won't be posting a new chapter. I need to work on some of my other stuff that's been neglected for a while. Plus, I posted three last week, and I didn't even leave you on a cliffie this time! Aren't I nice?_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

"Please tell me you heard the same thing I just heard."

Jasper nodded slowly, and he scribbled what Edward hoped was the name Wisp just spoke onto a sheet in her chart.

"Wisp, little one." Edward cupped her face in one hand, looking deep into her troubled brown eyes. "Who is Dr. Gerandy? Can you tell me, sweetheart? How do you know him?" It was futile, but he couldn't help asking.

"Bad," she said, wrinkling her little nose. "Bad, Edward."

"Yeah, I heard you. I know. I won't make you see him again. You have nice Dr. Jasper to take care of you now—what do you think of that?"

"Bad doctor." Her breath, scented with sugar and chocolate, fanned across his face. Edward watched her brows knit together as she tried to puzzle out her thoughts through the haze of the medication. A waterfall of emotions spilled over her delicate features, darting like hummingbirds here and there. Confusion. Hurt. Frustration. She shook her head slowly, pink mouth drawn up in what Edward swore was a pout. "Bad..."

"She may be able to tell you more once the Ativan wears off," Jasper suggested. "I know you only gave her one pill, but the poor thing looks pretty out of it."

She did. Her body moved sluggishly against his, limbs heavy and loose. The medication's job was to keep her from panicking. Unfortunately, it impeded just about everything else too.

"Emmett needs to know that shit." Edward rubbed her hand.

"I'm texting him now." Esme's voice was shaky, full of the same jerky tension Edward felt. A name. She'd given them a motherfucking _name_, something he'd almost convinced himself she wasn't capable of. "How do you think you spell 'Gerandy'?"

"He'll call you the minute he gets that text and you can say it out loud for him." That warm, gooey feeling was back, along with one Edward could actually name.

Pride.

He was so incredibly proud of Wisp, and he wasn't sure there was any real way to explain it to her. Not only had she survived the worst part of her medical exam, but she'd given them a _name_. And not just a name—an occupation, too. At some point in her past, she had known a doctor, and she didn't like him. Edward thought back to the picture she'd drawn of the unnamed man. He didn't _look_ much like a doctor. But then, what did he know? Just because the guy wasn't wearing a white coat didn't mean he wasn't a doctor.

"I must be like a pretty girl whisperer or something, huh, cutie pie?" Jasper said, chucking Wisp gently under the chin. "I managed to get a name out of you."

"Don't let him take the credit." Edward was more than a little amused as Wisp turned her chin away from Jasper's fingers. "That all goes to you, honey. Do you have any idea how proud I am of you?" The broad smile plastered over his face had to be an indication, didn't it? She stared at him for a long minute before flashing a hesitant smile in return. "I know. I know you don't understand why I'm so happy. But it's all because of you, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead, something she seemed to like, and felt her medicated body relax even further into his sheltering arms.

"Edward," she said, sounding about as content as he'd ever heard her.

After that, taking her for x-rays of her legs and waiting for results didn't seem onerous at all. Esme tried to entertain her with a couple of small toys but, in this respect, Wisp was nothing like a small child. She preferred to sit quietly in Edward's lap, rubbing the ribbed wrist of her shirt between her fingers. Edward wasn't at all sure that she didn't doze off for a few minutes here and there as they waited in the private exam room for Jasper to return with her x-ray results. He hated the necessity of drugging her, especially now as she suffered through the residual effects, but Esme had been right. Forcing her to endure that examination without assistance wouldn't just have been unfair, but downright cruel.

"I hope eventually I'll be able to explain to you why this had to happen," he murmured against her hair. Esme's eyes flicked up from the magazine she was pretending to read, but he didn't much care. His aunt wouldn't say anything about the way he talked to Wisp. "I'm so, so sorry that we scared you, and I'm even more sorry that you had to hurt, even just for a minute. Sometimes...sometimes pain has a good reason." A bark of dark laughter escaped him. "Not like I expect you've had much of that. Everything that happened to you before—it wasn't for a good reason. You didn't deserve any of it, and you're not at fault. I'm not a psychologist, but I hear that's something victims often feel. It's stupid, maybe, but I really hope you'll be different. I think it might break my heart if I knew you thought you deserved whatever those fuckers did to you."

"One thing at a time, Edward." Esme's soft voice was full of compassion. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"I know, I know. Maslow's hierarchy of needs." The most pressing problems needed to be addressed first—speech, locomotion, general health—and only then would they be able to move on to less tangible issues. "I just...it's starting to really hit home that there's no magic word, no miracle cure. She's learning a lot and I'm so proud of her, but I guess it's finally sinking in that she's not normal, and she's not going to _be_ normal for a very, very long time. That the way it's going is the way it's going to go, you know? She's not going to wake up some morning and start using full sentences out of the blue."

Esme nodded, a soft smile hovering on her lips. "It's the opposite of watching a child grow, almost. With children, you relish accomplishments but, at the same time, you savor each stage for what it is. You don't want to rush it. I don't know any parent who would want to wave a magic wand and turn a toddler into a fully independent adult—not really. What would be the point of having a child at all? But she's different, isn't she?"

"She's not a child. I know it's hard to see it sometimes, but she's not. She's twenty years old, if we can believe anything that comes out of that man's mouth. She should already have had these milestones. In some ways, this struggle feels like...like running a race against world-class sprinters while tied to an anchor."

Esme cocked her head to the side, observing Wisp's placement in Edward's lap, the way her cheek lay softly on his shoulder. "You know, that anchor is only making you stronger. Nobody ever said you had to win the race. Getting to the finish line seems like a pretty big accomplishment to me."

"You hear that, pretty girl?" Edward stroked her warm skin, feathering his fingers through the little flyaway hairs at her temple. "Esme says it doesn't matter how fast you go. We can keep crawling—metaphorically speaking, of course, because I'd really like if you could stand and walk. We can even go backwards sometimes, because I'm not idiotic enough to think that won't happen. Just keep that finish line in view."

Except, for the first time Edward had to wonder what that finish line was, exactly. Some things went without saying—successfully talking and walking—but what was the full picture, the final goal? Was it a fully actualized, contributing member of society? Independence? Because Edward honestly didn't know how realistic those goals were, no matter how smart he believed she was.

What would it be like, he wondered, to see a fully-functional Wisp—a Wisp with a different name, even—walk out his front door and not come back? To maybe keep in touch through email or something, or not, and just...go back to his regular life? The idea was uncomfortable. Disconcerting. He dropped his head to look at the girl half asleep in his arms; she was warm and sweet, soft and pliant. So fragile. So in need. Imagining her independence really wasn't possible at this point. There was no guarantee, after all, that she would ever gain it.

The gentle sound of the door pulled Edward from his thoughts. He rubbed Wisp's shoulder with his thumb, watching anxiously as Jasper re-entered the room.

"Do you want the proverbial good news or bad news first?" The corner of Jasper's mouth lifted, which told Edward that things couldn't be terrible...right?

"Just start at the beginning, please."

Jasper sat on his stool, drawing closer to the table. "Well, there's nothing wrong with her bones—that's the good news. Have you ever heard the term 'preacher's knee'?"

Edward shook his head.

"It's a form of bursitis caused by repetitive kneeling, so Carlisle was spot-on in his diagnosis. Basically, the fluid that lets her joints move smoothly isn't doing its job, and her continuing to kneel is only aggravating the problem."

"What can we do?"

"Short term, keeping her off her knees is important. Ice and elevation, as with any injury. Ordinarily I'd suggest an oral anti-inflammatory to start, but since the damage is probably long-standing, I'd like to try a cortisone injection instead. We can also try draining some of the fluid, but I'd recommend starting with the steroid and home treatment first."

"So she really is in pain?" Esme shook her head. "Poor baby."

"It's definitely not pleasant," Jasper agreed. "She's not in agony—I think you'd know if that were the case. But her knees are probably stiff and achy, and there can be a sharp, stinging sort of pain, too."

"What about walking?" Edward asked tightly.

"There's nothing wrong with the bones in her legs; that's all I can tell you right now. We could try a MRI to get a better look, but personally I don't think it's necessary."

"Why not?"

"Let's consider the evidence." Jasper rubbed his palms on his knees. "You explained to me exactly why you think she's been trained and treated like an animal. The rational conclusion isn't that she's in any way disabled by a congenital defect, but that she's been taught to crawl rather than walk. I think an MRI would, quite honestly, be a stress that she doesn't need."

"So you think she _can_ walk?" Esme asked.

"I doubt she'll be up and about anytime soon, if that's what you mean. Muscles atrophy, tendons warp under stress. She's going to need physical therapy, and a lot of it. Possibly braces and/or crutches, at least for a while. Partially it may depend on whether she ever learned to walk in the first place." Jasper leaned forward slightly. "But first, before we do any of that, we need to get the swelling in her knees down. She won't want to even try to walk if they hurt."

Okay, knees first. Edward could deal with that. One step at a time. "The steroid injection? You can do that today?"

"Right now," Jasper agreed. "But I reserve the right to give her another sucker since I have to be the mean old doctor again."

* * *

The ride home was much quieter than the morning—whether because Wisp knew she was going home or simply was too tired to complain, Edward couldn't say. He held her in his lap, grateful once again for tinted windows as Esme drove them back to the cabin.

"It's better than I feared," Esme offered from the driver's seat. "All in all, I mean."

Edward had to agree. There was nothing wrong with her legs that would prevent her from walking. Her vitals and bloodwork were improving, though there was definitely a long way to go still. They would have to wait for results on the STI test, but for now he was going to hope for the best.

"It's going to be a challenge keeping her off her knees." Jasper had stressed again the importance of not letting her kneel before they left the clinic, but Edward didn't honestly know how successful he was going to be at that. He was happy to carry her—preferred it, in fact, to watching her crawl—but realistically he couldn't stop her one hundred percent of the time. At least she was good at staying where she was put, so elevation and ice shouldn't be a problem.

Wisp perked up as they pulled into the gravel driveway, her huge eyes growing even bigger. She pressed her nose against the window, staring hard as the familiar trees around Edward's cabin rolled slowly by.

"Do you see that?" Edward pointed to the little cabin. "Do you know what that is, little Wisp?"

She spared him a glance, chewing on her lower lip as she turned from the window to Edward and back again. He watched the emotions play across her features—surprise, happiness…peace? Relief, certainly. "Yeah," he agreed, as fascinated as ever by her. "You know where you are, don't you? Were you afraid I wouldn't bring you back?"

She didn't answer, staring fixedly out the window as Esme brought the car to a stop.

"That's something you never have to be afraid of, little one. I'm not going to send you away—not ever. I didn't the first time, but I know you can't understand the difference yet." He opened the door, careful that she wasn't leaning on it, and lifted her out of the car. Wisp breathed the clean air deeply, her cheeks flushed pink with happiness as she looked from the cabin to him and back again.

"Home," Edward said slowly. "That right there, pretty girl—that's home." He paused, holding her warm body against his, letting her gaze wander around the wooded grounds, the small, damp, gravelly clearing in front of the cabin. "I don't want to treat you like a toddler, but I'd kind of love it if you learned that word. Can you tell me that you're home, little Wisp? Home?"

She looked at him, a small smile hovering over her pink mouth. "Edward."

"Yes, I'm Edward. I'm Edward, you're Wisp, and this is home." He couldn't exactly point while holding her, but he nodded his head toward the little building.

Wisp turned her head, regarding the curtain-covered windows, the green front door that Esme was currently unlocking. "Home?" she tried, drawing out the _m_ into a little hum.

"That's right." Edward hugged her close. It was more than a little ridiculous how happy he felt to hear her say that, but he didn't care. Not after the day they'd just had. "Home. Home is supposed to be a place where you can be safe and happy. Maybe the only place, for some people."

"Come inside, you silly boy," Esme called, her smile warm and welcoming. "You can explain intangible concepts to her later, but I think right now she deserves a treat for everything she's been through."

"She deserves much more than that." Edward smiled at the girl in his arms. "Don't you? Everyone's more than happy to spoil you rotten with gifts and sugar. I'm sure you like it, but something tells me it's not just the surprises you enjoy." He couldn't really imagine how she had survived before, what it was like to live day to day without affection. Cruelty was horrible, certainly, but so was disinterest. How much of both had she dealt with in her twenty years? Was there ever a time she had known love? Family? "I don't know if this is your first _real_ home, little Wisp—where you're safe and cared for. If it isn't, maybe you don't believe these things are real. That they can _be_ real, and permanent. I'm going to do my best to show you how good life can be, if you'll let me."

"Edward."

He bumped his forehead lightly against hers. "Yes. I'm Edward."

"Home?"

Edward nodded, his nose brushing the tip of hers as he moved. "Yeah. I'd like to be that, too."

When he stepped into the cabin, Edward almost tripped over the little ball of black fur that immediately began to wind around his ankles.

"Pet!" Wisp said happily, and she reached both arms down toward the animal.

"Pet better be careful or she's going to end up squashed." Edward set his burden on the floor, watching carefully, but she didn't shift to her knees and try to crawl. The kitten climbed into her lap and reached toward her face with an outstretched paw, and Edward heard Wisp's giggle for the first time in hours. "That's a nice sound," he told her, before setting off in search of cat-induced damage to his house.

It was only a little past noon, and yet Edward felt like they'd been gone the whole day. Why wasn't it time to go to bed yet? So much had happened in the space of a few hours at the pediatric clinic and he wasn't even sure how _he_ felt about everything, never mind how Wisp felt.

Sure enough, the toilet paper roll in the bathroom was completely unrolled, and Edward also found some shredded paper next to the recycling bin in the kitchen.

"Maybe I should have got her a goldfish instead," he muttered, kneeling to pick up the tiny bits of paper scattered all over the floor.

"Goldfish are far too delicate." Esme spoke with her head buried in a cupboard as she dug through its contents. "What would you do in a week or a month when you found it floating belly-up in its bowl? She's far too perceptive for you to just switch out a live fish for a dead one—she'd notice. Besides, fish aren't cuddly."

And puppies probably made even bigger messes, not to mention being far too boisterous for his shy girl. No, she and the kitten were a good match. One of them just behaved better than the other. Not that anything or anyone—person, pet, or plant—could behave better than Wisp. She was too terrified to put a foot out of line. Edward was actually kind of looking forward to the first time she seriously told him no, or made a mess, or...something. Anything to prove she was slowly stepping out of the prison of her fear. Talking, even in single words, was a huge step, and he couldn't even imagine how frightened she must have been the first time she spoke to him.

As if his musings prompted it, Edward heard Wisp's rough, quiet voice in the living room. "Pet," she said, and he poked his head around the doorway to listen. "Pet, bad doctor."

The thought of her talking to her cat, telling the little thing about her day, was incredibly cute. The content of her words, however, was otherwise. "Bad doctor?" Edward asked, stepping further into the living room. The place was steeped in shadow and he opened the curtains to let in the dim, overcast light. "Dr. Jasper is the good doctor, honey. The bad doctor can't hurt you here."

"Bad doctor," Wisp repeated, letting go of her kitten. It jumped from her lap with a little wiggle of its scruffy rear. "Doctor bad."

Edward's brow furrowed. Was she flipping words because she didn't know any better, or was she trying to tell him something? "Dr. Jasper?"

"Bad," she said. "Doctor bad. Ow, Edward."

"Yeah, I know." It really was too much to expect her to believe Jasper had only done what was necessary. "I know it hurt, but...fuck, how do I explain this?" He couldn't even think of a drawing that would help, as Garrett had drawn James behind bars for her. "You said you liked him before. Well, you called him good, which is sort of the same thing. Good doctor, remember?"

Wisp's little nose wrinkled and her mouth turned down in obvious displeasure. "_Bad_ doctor. Doctor bad."

The sincerity in her huge, dark eyes puzzled Edward. In the clinic, confused and slow with medication, she'd dutifully repeated what Jasper and Edward had prompted her to say, nothing more. The realization slowly dawned on him, implications buzzing like electricity in his head. "Esme? Will you come here a minute?"

Esme appeared in the doorway. "What sounds good for lunch? Sandwiches? I was thinking something light, since there's also dessert."

Edward really didn't care about lunch at the moment. "Listen to this. Tell me what you think." He turned back to Wisp. "Good Dr. Jasper."

"Bad doctor," she repeated. "Doctor bad."

Esme frowned. "But she said—"

"That's just it. She said it there, when he was listening. She said what we told her to say." Edward knelt again and touched his fingers to Wisp's cheek. Pet tried to climb her shirt, batting at his hand. A small chuckle escaped Edward's mouth, but not at the cat's antics. "I think she's trying to say she doesn't think he's good after all."

"You think she _lied_?" Esme didn't look convinced. "Edward, she barely understands single words. Lying is a pretty complex concept."

"Don't call it lying. Call it hiding—self preservation." Edward smiled at the girl as she picked up her kitten and nuzzled its fur. "She's doing what she's always done. When whoever-it-was taught her to act like a pet, she had to hide her humanity somewhere he couldn't reach it. She showed him what he wanted to see. Eventually it backfired—the brainwashing got to be too much, and she lost herself. But she tried. Just like she's trying now. Jasper hurt her, and she doesn't understand that it was for a reason." Edward grinned a little wider. "Clearly a sucker and a pudding cup aren't enough to placate her entirely."

"Aren't you worried?" Esme asked. "If she can deceive Jasper, what's to say she can't deceive you, too? Don't you wonder what else she could be hiding?"

"No." Edward leaned forward and kissed the top of Wisp's head, earning himself another slap from the cat. "She trusts me. She came home and told me the truth. Didn't you, little Wisp?"

"Good Edward," she said, smiling at him. "Good Edward, good Pet."

"Yeah, we are. And good Wisp, too. Can you say that one?"

She wrinkled her nose, cocking her head to the side, and remained quiet.

They were going to have to work on that one.

"She did exactly what she thought Jasper and I wanted—she told us what she thought we wanted to hear. It's not ideal, maybe, but it's a coping mechanism." He hoped eventually they'd be able to explain to her that her truths—her opinions and emotions—were always safe to share with family and friends. At least she felt safe sharing them with him (never mind that she'd told the cat first). That was the most important thing. "I wish I could tell you that you never had to see a doctor again," he said, holding her chin in a gentle grasp so she looked at him. "If it weren't so important, I'd say the hell with it, but we need you healthy, little one. Speaking of which..."

Edward dropped her chin and returned to the kitchen, fetching a gel ice pack and a bag of frozen peas, since he didn't have two of either. He threw two dish towels over his arm, moved everything to the living room, then grabbed a stack of extra pillows from the hall closet.

"Okay," he said, "we're going to try something new, little Wisp, but I don't want it to freak you out. Just...just stay calm and everything will be fine."

She watched with curious eyes as he spread a throw blanket on the floor, and she didn't struggle when he lifted her onto it. "I just want you to ice and elevate for, what, twenty minutes? Is that what Jasper said?" He'd have to look at the written directions that had been sent home with them. "Then you can have some lunch and maybe draw a little more. Or I can read to you—would you like that? A different book, because Rose says we can't read Peter Pan."

"Rose?" Wisp looked eagerly toward the door. "Peter?"

Shit. "No, Rose isn't here, honey. She'll come see you tomorrow." Wasn't that what she'd said? That she would come every other day, whether he liked it or not? If Wisp wanted her, he certainly wasn't going to say no. "We'll read something else, okay?"

He settled two pillows under her legs, leaning her back against two more. Though her expression told him plainly that she thought he was a little crazy, she didn't attempt to move. Edward could live with that He draped the dish towels over her knees to protect her tender skin from the damp, then carefully set the ice pack on one knee and the bag of peas on the other.

She shuddered at the cold, trepidation seeping into her big, dark eyes as she watched him.

"It's okay," he soothed. "You're fine, little Wisp. It's going to feel a little cold, but I promise it will help." Digging out his phone, he googled the Project Gutenberg website and scrolled through their list of free, public domain ebooks. "I don't have any actual paper books here that you'd be interested in, but we can improvise for now. I'll buy you a whole library later if you want." Picture books, art books, any sort of books she wanted. Anything to see her rapturous smile—the one she wore when she was drawing.

At first, Edward wasn't sure Gutenberg would have anything suitable either. They had been around for years, before e-readers became popular, disseminating public-domain works of scholarship and literature to an Internet audience. He'd used the site many times for research purposes, but never before for fun. Flipping through pages of ancient Greeks and not-so-ancient Victorians, he wondered if he was actually going to find anything they could legitimately read.

Then he stumbled on a vaguely familiar name.

"Lewis Carroll." He glanced at Wisp. "I guess it doesn't matter much if the story makes sense or not. I think I remember being confused by it when I was a kid." He opened the file and settled next to her, his back against the couch. "Oh, look, there are even pictures. See?" He showed her the phone. "That's Alice. Well, not our Alice. Shit, maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

But he had her attention now, and she was poking at the touch screen of his phone, thankfully not doing anything to disrupt the picture. "A-lice?"

"Yeah." Oh well. Alice could sort that one out the next time she came over. "Do you want me to read to you about Alice?"

Wisp didn't answer, but she looked expectant.

Edward began. "_Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do. Once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversations?'_

"_So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by __her._"

* * *

_A/N:I want to thank everyone who has PM'ed or emailed me about the fic that was recently posted with a suspiciously similar plotline/elements to Wisp. I looked at it, discussed w/ several people, and this is my response:  
1) Yes, she's obviously reading Wisp, but she's not stealing my WORDS, so it's not technically plagiarism.  
2) The writing is terrible, which makes me much less upset than I otherwise would be.  
3) I stated plainly where my inspiration came from and other fics here with similar plotlines, and I was careful not to tread too closely on any of their toes. I consider that common courtesy, but it's not a law or anything.  
4) Because of this, as of right now I don't plan to do anything about it. I reserve the right to change my mind, but right now it's not worth anything more than a snarky A/N.  
_

_One more thing. I've signed up to donate a Wisp futuretake to Fandom for Suicide Awareness/To Write Love on Her Arms. I usually don't do the whole donate-for-causes thing, but this is one I strongly believe in. So if you want to know what Wisp/Bella's future life is going to look like (with Edward? without Edward?) go to fandom4suicideawareness dot blogspot dot com for details. Mwah! Loves you, duckies!_


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N: No, I didn't plan to update today, but livie79 is so cute that I totally caved. BTW, she has a new angst fic that I'm totally afraid to read, but you should check it out!_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

Wisp did not want to leave Edward's immediate vicinity that afternoon. Edward read her a chapter of Alice, then brought her lunch. She didn't fuss when he set her plate in her lap rather than on the coffee table, and she chewed her sandwich with the same single-minded attention she gave all food placed before her.

"A multi-tasker you are not," Edward said, smiling through his own food.

"I think it's a unique skill nowadays," Esme offered. "Being able to see the world as it is, to concentrate on just one thing at a time."

Edward had to agree.

His aunt ran to the store after lunch to pick up some children's chewable vitamins and Tylenol, and Edward let Wisp curl on his lap on the couch—her favorite place to be.

"I don't know a lot about you," he told her as her eyes began to close, her head falling heavily against his shoulder. "Days like today only make that more clear. But sometimes I feel like I know everything I need to. Does that make any sense at all?"

"Good Edward," she said, mumbling through a yawn as her body relaxed further against him.

"Yeah, I like to think so."

He kissed her soft hair, smiling when she hummed a sweet, happy note. "You really are about the most adorable thing I've ever seen. I have a feeling I'd still think so even if you were completely normal—unharmed, just the way you were supposed to be."

His phone buzzed in his pocket just as he was pretty sure Wisp fell completely asleep, and Edward moved slowly as he dug it out. "Hello?"

"Hey, I just got Esme's text," Emmett said. His voice was tight, his words clipped. "What happened? How did you get her to give you a name?"

"It was kind of an accident. She was afraid of Jasper and kept calling him a bad doctor, and it just...slipped out, I guess?"

"I guess I don't really care how you managed to do it, as long as you did it." Emmett chuckled. It wasn't a humorous laugh—he sounded a little like he did when he was winning at a video game. "We're looking up everyone in the state with that name, doctor or not. I'm not willing to trust that this Gerandy is an actual medical doctor—not after the sick things we already know someone did to her."

Edward agreed wholeheartedly.

"Did the doctor's visit go okay otherwise?"

Edward shrugged even though he knew Emmett couldn't see him. "Not great, but it could have been worse, you know?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Edward grimaced. "She freaked out in the car on the way in, and she wasn't too happy about Jasper touching her. Some candy seemed to smooth things over for a while, but then Jasper said she needed a pelvic exam."

"Shit. Rosie refused to go get one of those for years. It was only when we decided we wanted kids that she agreed it was necessary. Before that, she always said that if there was something wrong down there, she didn't want to know."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't pretty." Edward shuddered, remembering the way Wisp's body had trembled under him, her soft cries and whimpers. "Jasper said she's sensitive or something. I didn't really understand, but there was blood and she was crying..."

"Fuck." Emmett exhaled into the phone. "She okay?"

"For now, yeah. She's sleeping, anyway. Jasper said there's nothing wrong with her bones, but she'll need physical therapy to learn to walk. Her knees are hurt and we need to work on healing them before we even think about PT."

"Are they still all puffy and red like they were that first night?"

"Yeah. Jasper gave her a steroid injection to help with pain and swelling. I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens, you know?"

"Sometimes it feels like that's all we've been doing since you found her. Not that I'm complaining or anything—fuck, what do I have to complain about? It's just frustrating."

Yes, it certainly was. "Once you have the list of Gerandies, what are you going to do?"

There was a long, drawn out moment of silence in which Emmett said nothing and Edward understood exactly what that meant.

"No," he said firmly. "Not today, at least. I don't want to push her any more today."

"Edward, the sooner we do this the sooner we can catch this guy. Or at least ask him some very pointed questions. We need to know what he looks like."

"No," Edward repeated. "Not today, and maybe not tomorrow either. You have no idea how stressful today was for her. I know we need to catch the bastards, but she's my responsibility. I don't want to see her hurting any more than she has to, mentally or physically. Today sucked—I mean, really sucked. Don't you think she deserves a break?"

Emmett's silence told Edward all he needed to know.

"No, Em. She's just a little girl."

"She's an adult woman," Emmett argued, but Edward could tell by the tone of his voice that he didn't really believe it.

"Give her a day or two. She's scared and hurt. What if it were Rose in her situation?"

"Shit, man, that's hitting below the belt."

"Anything for her."

Emmett said nothing more about it, which Edward took to mean he'd won the argument for now. He wondered, if it really came down to it, who had the authority to say whether Wisp did something or not? Was it he—her legal guardian? Or was it Emmett, as a representative of law enforcement?

"Was it really that bad?"

"I never want to go through anything like that again," Edward said honestly, "and I can only imagine how much worse it was for her."

Wisp was warm in his lap, her weight comforting as she leaned against him. Edward took peace in her sweetness, her utter faith in him as a good person who wouldn't hurt her...or let anyone else.

"Did she have a meltdown again?"

"No," Edward admitted, "but I ended up giving her an Ativan, which I didn't want to do. I think it helped, even though I wish we could have done without." Realistically, he knew that Jasper and Esme had been right. She needed the medication to get through that exam, regardless of her ability to understand it. But no one else had seen her in that hospital; they didn't know how she had looked, drugged and terrified, pulling at the bindings holding her to a bed that scared her out of her mind. Without that visual, he doubted anyone could really understand how he felt about medicating her.

"It's gotta be weird for you, you know?"

So many things were "weird" for Edward right now. He couldn't even begin to imagine what Emmett meant.

"Well, she's...I don't know, it's just weird. I mean, I feel protective as fuck of Rosie; you know I do, even though she can take care of herself. When our kid gets here it's gonna be worse, because a baby can't do that. Take care of itself, I mean. But your Wisp, she's...in-between. She's not your girl. She's not your kid. It's just..."

"Weird. Yeah." Edward guessed he understood what Emmett meant, but really, that was the least of his worries right now. Wisp just...she just _was_. She wasn't his girlfriend or his child, but he didn't feel the need to find a neat label under which to file her. She was herself, just as their relationship was itself. Maybe it defied the neat little boxes the rest of the world liked to fit things into, but Edward couldn't help that. He would do his best to be for her whatever she needed him to be.

"Tomorrow?" Emmett prodded, gentler this time. "Garrett can help again or we can try it by ourselves, but we need to get moving on this."

Edward knew that; he did. But he hated seeing her fear, hearing her cry. She was small and defenseless, and she looked to him for protection. What else could he do but what she needed?

"Alice is bringing more art supplies from Seattle," he said finally. "When she does, you can bring Garrett over to help her learn how to use them and stuff."

"And we can ask her to draw the doctor?"

"Yes," Edward said, though he didn't want to. "You can ask her to draw the doctor." Realistically, she had to give them more information at some point. As long as it wasn't today, did it really matter when?

Wisp shifted against him, nuzzling deeper into the curve of his shoulder. Edward rubbed his thumb in slow circles on her hip. She was bony under the soft layers of her clothes, but they'd fix that. Eighty-five pounds was far too small; she needed to put on some weight. Physical therapy would hopefully help her build muscle, but they couldn't even think about starting that until her knees felt better.

"So, you'll let me know as soon as Alice gets back from Seattle?" Emmett didn't sound entirely convinced, and Edward didn't blame him. Everyone knew he didn't want them harassing Wisp more than necessary.

"I will," he promised. "Now go away. I'm supposed to be preparing for foster-home training."

Emmett ended the call, but Edward didn't make a move to access the pdf file he was supposed to use to prep for that training class. He looked at the girl asleep in his arms—her pink cheeks, the fan of her dark eyelashes, the faintest hint of freckles on the bridge of her nose despite her perfect porcelain skin. Regardless of how long he'd known her, her face was as familiar to him as any of his family or friends. Each line of her features was perfect, from her nose that turned up a little at the end, to the innocent pink of her lips. The ragged, blunt edges of her nails were even smoothing out. Apparently she felt no need to bite them when she was with him.

Sometime during his conversation with Emmett, Pet had clawed her way onto the couch and settled in Wisp's lap, her little black nose shoved under one curled hand.

"You be nice to her," Edward warned the creature. "No turning into a biting, hissing sort of cat. She needs a friend right now and you're it."

The kitten gave no response. It was deeply asleep, not even purring.

"Yeah, I get it. I'm probably going crazy, talking to myself." Well, if the shoe fit. Edward shook his head and brought up the pdf file he needed to study.

* * *

Esme returned a while later, just as Wisp had settled at the coffee table with her colored pencils. She smiled at Edward as she headed for the kitchen to put her bags down. He wasn't terribly surprised to see that, while she had gone out just for vitamins and Tylenol, she'd come back with plenty more.

"D'you need help?" he asked, rising from the couch and crossing the floor.

"I'll only be a minute; it's fine."

Edward leaned in the doorway where he could watch Esme put the groceries away but still remain in Wisp's line of sight. She looked up at him for a long moment before turning back to her drawing, as if satisfied that he wasn't going anywhere.

It was mid-afternoon—about time for Wisp to eat again. Edward eyed the cake container Esme brought over that morning, wondering if now was as good a time as any to introduce her to some _serious_ sugar. Nobody could say that she hadn't earned it.

"Oh, go on," Esme said when she saw where his eyes were glued. "What's the worst that could happen? If she gets a bellyache, there's Pepto in the bathroom. I'm going to make some lasagna for dinner."

"Just don't make it too spicy," Edward warned. If Wisp hadn't liked vinegar, there was no telling how she might react to spicy food. "Carlisle's going to be jealous."

"Oh, I'll take a pan with me when I go back to the main house. He's not deprived."

Edward chuckled as he pulled out a bowl and a knife and Esme lifted the lid from the cake container. Inside, just as he suspected, he found Esme's legendary chocolate cake. He remembered doing just about anything as a kid for a piece of that cake. It was dark, rich, moist and perfect, and she iced it with homemade chocolate buttercream, then drizzled a thick chocolate ganache on top.

"She's going to go ballistic," he told his aunt. "But in a good way this time."

Esme held up her phone. "I'm taking pictures."

Edward cut a slice of cake for Wisp—maybe a little bigger than she technically _ought_ to have, but no one was here to stop him—and one for himself because, really, he couldn't help it. He put a spoon in Wisp's bowl and carried them both out to the living room. Esme followed with her phone and a cup of milk.

"Hey, little Wisp," Edward said, "guess what? You were so good today, and Esme brought you a treat. Maybe you don't remember, but I promised you chocolate cake at some point. Well, today's the day." Seriously, he couldn't wait to see how she liked it. This was something he'd wanted to give her for a _long_ time.

She willingly moved her paper and pencils aside, giving him a spot in front of her to set down the bowl. Esme gave her the milk, too, and they both stepped back to watch. Okay, maybe Edward swiped a fingerful of frosting from his bowl as he waited, but he doubted anyone who had tasted Esme's cake would blame him.

Wisp looked dubiously at the food that, realistically, looked kind of like dirt, but her eyes lit with interest once she lowered her head and breathed in the heavy, rich scent of chocolate. Her hand reached out and, just as Edward had, she swept up a fingerful of frosting to put in her mouth.

Esme's phone began to click photos, and Edward couldn't blame her. Not with that expression on Wisp's face. She looked...shocked was one way to put it. Like she'd never even considered such a thing existing in the world. She sucked hard on her finger, licking away all traces of buttercream before reaching for her spoon.

Her skills with cutlery were still rudimentary at best, but she tried and to Edward that was all that mattered. She spooned up a huge bite of cake and crammed it in her mouth, leaving a smudge of chocolate on her upper lip. Her cheeks bulged as she chewed, and she closed her eyes, her body actually slumping as if in perfect ecstasy.

"Be careful, Edward, or you'll never get her to eat anything else ever again," Esme teased.

"It'd be your fault for making such awesome cake."

"Alice is going to be sorry she missed this."

Edward didn't really care. "She can look at the pictures." He crossed to the couch and sat down, taking a bite of his own cake as he watched Wisp inhale hers. It was as good as always, sweet without being cloying, the different textures of cake and buttercream and ganache melting on his tongue.

Wisp swiped at the crumbs in her bowl when her cake was gone, using her finger to catch each dark little morsel, then licked her lips and sighed piteously.

"Drink your milk," Esme urged, pushing the cup forward a little bit.

Wisp dutifully drained the small cup, then turned to look for Edward.

Her gaze zeroed in on the bowl in his hands and, before he could tell her not to kneel, she was on her knees, then in his lap. Huge, liquid brown eyes stared pleadingly at him, and Edward _swore_ her lower lip jutted out slightly.

"This is mine," he tried, even as he heard the little clicking noise of Esme taking more photos. "You already ate yours. Inhaled it, really. It's a good thing your stomach is better than it was when I first found you."

Her expression did not change. She tugged lightly on the front of his shirt with one fist and exhaled a chocolate-scented breath. "Edward?"

Puppy dog eyes plus that pleading voice was far too much. Edward felt his resolve crumbling. "See," he started, "that's your bowl, over there. It's empty because you ate it all. This is my bowl, and I still have cake left."

"Good Edward?" she tried, voice laced with tentative hope.

He laughed. "Will you call me bad if I don't give you my cake? I'm not sure that's really fair, you know."

"Oh, just give her the cake already, Edward." Esme rolled her eyes. "It's not like that's the last of it."

Wisp still had a smear of chocolate on her upper lip. She nestled closer to Edward's chest—and, not so incidentally, his bowl. "Ow, Edward."

Edward couldn't help himself—he burst out laughing. "So you know that we feel bad you had to hurt today, huh?" Giving in, he angled a bite of cake toward her lips. "Begging is a bad habit, but shit, how can I say no to that face?" Really, he couldn't.

Wisp eagerly devoured the bite he offered her, and helpfully aided in consuming the rest of his piece, bite for bite.

"You know," Esme said thoughtfully, "when you were little, you'd do just about anything for that cake. Any chore I asked of you, you did with a smile."

"Yes," Edward agreed, "I remember." Wisp was busy licking the last smudge of frosting off his spoon.

"I'm just thinking...that might be something both of you have in common."

"Well, I'm not averse to rewarding her for difficult things but, realistically, how often do you think you want to bake cake?"

Esme laughed. "I could do a mass baking and freeze them."

Edward shook his head. "Wouldn't be the same. Would it, little Wisp?" He hugged her thin body close. "How about we give you some Tylenol now? It will help you feel better after your exam today."

"I'll get it," Esme said, gathering the dishes and returning to the kitchen. "I hope this stuff tastes better than it did when you were little."

"Well, we'll see, I guess." Edward wiped the last of the chocolate from Wisp's mouth with a napkin, then let her slip back to the floor. "What are you drawing?" he asked, leaning over her shoulder.

She moved her paper so he could better see—it wasn't finished, but Edward could clearly make out the outline of Pet playing with some of her toys.

"Very cute." Edward rubbed Wisp's shoulder and sat back up as Esme returned from the kitchen. She popped two little chewable tablets out of their packaging and handed them to him. "Can you chew these, honey?" he asked, holding the pills to her lips. "It might not taste great, but it will help you feel better."

She accepted the purple, supposedly-grape-flavored tablets into her mouth readily enough, but her delicate face scrunched up into a grimace of dislike as soon as she bit down. It was almost comical how tight a lemon-face she could make, though Edward felt bad that he'd caused it.

"I know," he said. "I don't think anything can really make medicine taste good. It will make you feel better though, I promise."

Esme offered a drink of water, which Wisp readily accepted, and she settled down to draw a little more.

"At least she's docile enough that she didn't spit it out," Edward's aunt observed.

"I don't think it would even occur to her." Edward sighed. "Part of me really wants to see her put up a fight about something, you know? I just hope that, when it happens, it's not something serious like medication or therapy. I'd really like her to be able to win a confrontation; I think it could do her so much good."

Esme considered, tapping a manicured finger against her chin. "You know," she said, "we just might be able to set up something like that."

* * *

_A/N: So, at least one of you is a VERY smart cookie who has read Wisp's backstory and asked a very, very good question about why she was so upset about Jasper touching her. All I can say at this point is, it will be explained as we move forward. Yes, it was intentional, not just a mistake on my part. _

_Remember - ask me questions! I'll post them (and answers) on the Wisp FAQ on my blog (dconioned dot blogspot dot com). Mwah! Loves you, duckies!_


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N: This chapter is for LyricalKris, who sadly lost one of her kitties yesterday. :( And also for Ooza, who keeps trying to turn Pet evil on Twitter. You can follow me there: at judo_lin Check out the fabulous work by these two ladies if you haven't already!_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

Edward woke slowly, his mind thick with sleep, body moving into a weak but satisfying stretch. It had been a good sleep; no dreams that he could remember, just a pleasant drift through warm darkness. He opened his eyes, finding himself on his stomach, one leg hanging over the side of the bed. It wasn't terribly unusual, since he did tend to thrash when he slept, but something about the morning seemed off, even to his sleep-muddled mind. Not the quiet, he told himself—that was normal. He lived alone unless he had a girlfriend with him, which he didn't at the moment. He and Tanya had mutually broken things off months ago, and—

Wisp.

He flipped to his back and sat up, staring at the curtain-darkened room. She wasn't on top of him. She wasn't in his bed at all.

Or the room.

Heart racing, Edward lurched out of bed and peered under it, his not-quite-awake body protesting the sudden movement. Though shadowed, he could clearly see that Wisp wasn't there.

Sternly, he told himself to calm down. She couldn't get far on her own. Maybe she'd woken up early and had to use the bathroom or something? That was more likely than the other scenario which popped into his head—someone from her past somehow finding her and getting her out of his room without waking him. Ridiculous, right?

God, he hoped so.

Grabbing a t-shirt, he yanked it on while almost falling down the stairs, blinking in the morning sunlight streaming through his living room window. A window he distinctly remembered covering with the curtains before he went to bed last night.

The soft sound of Wisp's giggle reached him, and Edward felt a wave of relief slam into his stomach as he turned toward the noise. She was safe. She was here. Everything was okay.

Well, everything except his kitchen.

Wisp knelt on the counter, her head buried in a cupboard as she investigated its contents. Two other cupboards had obviously suffered the same intense scrutiny—bags and jars and boxes of food littered the countertop and floor. Some of the containers were open, the contents looking distinctly like a finger had reached in for a taste.

"What on..."

Wisp whirled, and she flashed him a beautiful smile. "Edward!"

"Don't freak out." The familiar female voice struggled to hold in laughter. "She's not hurting anything."

"This is the sort of stunt I'd expect from Emmett, not from you." Edward narrowed his eyes at Rosalie, adrenaline from his scare still flowing through his bloodstream. "I almost had a heart attack when I woke up and she was gone."

"Why? You know she can't really go anywhere by herself—I don't think it would even occur to her to try. She's fine."

Edward took a deep breath and leaned back against the door jamb. Rosalie was right. Wisp couldn't get very far on her own, nor had she shown any desire to do so. He locked all the doors and windows at night, and he _hoped_ he slept lightly enough that someone couldn't literally take her from his arms unless she wanted to go.

Plus, he told himself, she seemed fine. Rosalie had dressed her in soft yoga pants and one of the long-sleeved thermal shirts Wisp loved. Her hair was brushed, her face clean, and she seemed to be having the time of her life making an absolute mess of his kitchen.

"She's not supposed to be kneeling," he observed, but even he felt the weakness of his argument. It was impossible to keep her off her knees one hundred percent of the time.

Rosalie ignored him. "She's learning independence. Her stomach growled, so I brought her in here and told her to find what she wanted for breakfast."

"I'm surprised she didn't go straight for Esme's cake."

Rose flashed a knowing smile and pointed to the top of the refrigerator, where the cake container now sat. "I'm not averse to giving her cake for breakfast, but I figured Carlisle wouldn't be pleased."

"Um."

The word was garbled through a mouthful of something, and Edward turned to see Wisp's cheeks bulge around a huge bite. He looked at the package in her hand—it was a chewy granola bar.

Rose laughed. "Looks like she found her breakfast."

Edward had to smile, too, as he pushed away from the wall and opened the refrigerator to get out her antibiotics. The medicine was liquid, luckily, but it had to be kept chilled. He measured out the correct dosage in a syringe, then held it to Wisp's mouth after she swallowed her bite of granola. She wrinkled her nose in distaste—clearly she remembered her dose last night—but took the medicine quietly, then bit off another hunk of the sticky bar.

"Go do your thing," Rose urged him. "I've got this. Every other day, remember? We're going to clean up in here and then read for a while, so you go do...something."

She waved him off and started picking dented boxes of food off the floor. Edward felt soundly dismissed. What exactly was he supposed to do?

"Edward," Wisp mumbled around a bite.

"Yeah?" He turned to her, reaching out to help her sit on the counter rather than kneel. "I was worried when I couldn't find you, you know."

She swallowed, then tilted her head and placed one of her not-quite kisses on his forehead. "Edward."

"Yeah, that's me." He returned the gesture and rubbed her sleeved arm. "Rose says I have to leave you alone for a while, but you let me know if you need me, okay?"

Soft, liquid brown eyes blinked at him. She didn't answer with words, but Edward hoped she'd let them know somehow if she wasn't comfortable staying with Rosalie.

"She was fine this morning," Rose said, closing a cupboard. "I peeked in to see how she was, and she looked at me. I figured she was probably bored just laying there and listening to you snore, so I offered to pick her up. She came without a fuss."

"I do not snore." Edward didn't know if he should even bother being upset that Rose had been in his bedroom while he was sleeping. It wouldn't stop her, so there was probably no point.

"You keep telling yourself that."

"I don't! Not one of my girlfriends has ever complained that I snore."

Rosalie snorted indelicately. "Maybe you kept them too happy to complain. Emmett told me stories about y'all in high school. He said your peen was legendary."

Edward instantly colored, but he managed to catch himself before he went so far as to clap his hands over Wisp's ears. "Don't talk about shit like that around her!"

A short bark of laughter left Rose's mouth. "She's not a baby, you idiot. Not in that sense, anyway. Hell, she probably knows more about dude junk than I do."

"That doesn't mean you have to—"

"Yeah, I don't have to," she interrupted, "but you can't just...what's the term...wrap her in bubble wrap or something like that. You can try to make her life happier than it's been, but you can't erase the bad things that have happened. You can't put up a wall between her and the rest of the world. Men have penises, and they have a sex drive. These things can be used to hurt, but they can also be fuckawesome. Dicks aren't the problem, except when they're attached to even bigger dicks. To pretend like you, Emmett, and any other guy she meets don't have them is both stupid and unfair to her."

Edward tugged at his messy hair. Yeah, he understood, but what was so wrong with wanting to keep her happy and safe in this nice little bubble? Nothing had to upset her. Nothing had to make her wary. Things could be simple instead of complicated.

Yet, even as he tried to make himself believe he could be that for her, build that safe place for her, Edward knew it was impossible. She'd never grow if he tried, and besides, it would be like...like trying to turn back the tide. He'd be ridiculous to try.

Rosalie looked at him with a strange, understanding expression he wasn't used to seeing from her. "Even Neverland has pirates, Edward."

When he turned to look at Wisp again, she was watching them solemnly. Her dark eyes blinked as they darted back and forth between him and Rose and a little vertical line creased the soft skin between her eyebrows. To his knowledge, she'd never done something like that before. She ignored the conversations that flowed around her as if the words were no more than background music, or the trilling song of birds.

"Wisp," he said into the silence, and her eyes locked instantly with his.

"You already know she knows her name, Edward." Rosalie frowned at him. "Go—get out of here."

Yes, he did know that. With a mental shrug he turned, ready for a long shower without an audience.

* * *

Alice arrived with a car absolutely crammed full of more art supplies than one girl could ever need. Wisp and Rose were still sprawled on their stomachs on the floor—Edward swore they hadn't moved all morning. Part of him wanted to make a snarky comment about never having seen Rose in such a position, but Wisp was so happy that he couldn't bring himself to do it. She exclaimed over every illustration, searching for Peter Pan and pointing him out excitedly, but Edward couldn't help but be baffled by her rapt attention even when there were no pictures and Rosalie was simply reading. She didn't understand many words but, more than that, she never seemed to pay much attention when people around her talked. What, then, was so different about reading? She'd done the same when he read to her from _Alice in Wonderland_, he realized.

Because Wisp and Rose were so engrossed in their book, Edward helped Alice bring all the art supplies in. There were no extra rooms in the tiny cabin—no study or office—so he opted to store everything in Wisp's bedroom for now. It wasn't like she was using it anyway, so as long as they could still reach her dresser and closet, it was fine.

He honestly had no idea what some of the stuff was that Alice had bought. Different kinds of paper—more than he could name. Easels—as in, more than one. Fine tipped markers in a yellow case that snapped shut. Pastels. Oil-based paint. Water-based paint. Watercolors (not that Edward could explain the difference). A big block of clay and tools to go with it—though, thankfully, not a pottery wheel. Brushes of all different sizes. Rubber cement and good old Elmer's glue. Scissors. Ultra-fine glitter in a rainbow of colors. A box of crayons and a stack of coloring books. Something called Sculpey that Alice swore would be easier than clay to work with—and also cleaner.

Some of what she brought clearly was meant for children, but the vast majority of it was professional quality. He liked the breadth of options but secretly hoped Wisp wouldn't care much for the coloring books. She had too much skill to waste it that way.

"What do you think?" Alice asked when the car was finally empty. "I went to three different art stores in Seattle, plus a crafts store. It was so much fun! Look at this." Out of a bag of random supplies she pulled out a little wooden stick figure. Its joints were poseable and Alice played with its arms for a minute taking it through the YMCA dance..

"What's it for?" Edward asked. It didn't look much like a doll. The thing didn't even have a face.

"It's a model. For drawing, I guess?" Alice shrugged. "I'm sure she'll find something to do with it."

Looking at the pots of paint and glue, the block of clay, Edward said a silent farewell to the carpet. "I feel like I want to put a tarp down."

"I have some drop cloths somewhere." Alice gestured to the pile of bags. "Wisp will be careful. She doesn't seem like the type to make huge messes."

Edward laughed. "You didn't see the kitchen this morning."

Alice's delicate face lit up with a huge grin. "Did she really try to do something by herself in the kitchen? Edward, that's wonderful!"

"Well, Rose was an instigator, but yeah." He smiled. "I guess it was pretty cute."

"Everything she does is cute." Alice tapped a finger against her chin, looking around. "What do you want to give her first? Jasper said not to do it all at once. He said it might overwhelm her."

Edward told himself to thank Jasper the next time he saw him.

They finally decided to show her some of the paint first, and the easel, but only a couple of brushes. Edward dug until he found a drop cloth, then took it and an easel down to the living room.

Sometime during the unloading process, Rosalie must have finished a chapter. She was in the kitchen, Wisp was throwing toys for her cat, and the book sat closed on the coffee table.

"Hey, pretty girl. Alice brought more presents for you." Edward spread the cloth on the floor, then set the easel on top of it.

Instantly he had Wisp's attention. She stayed where she was, but her eyes followed his every movement. And, like an idiot, Edward realized suddenly that she couldn't possibly use an easel because she couldn't stand and wouldn't sit in a chair.

"Your Edward is stupid," he told her wryly. "These are things I probably should know by now, huh?" He looked at the easel. It was made of pale wood, and it didn't _look_ like it would be too hard to... "Hang on a second. I'll be right back."

There was a little shed out behind the cabin—mostly used to store wood and house spiders, but there were some tools in there as well. Edward grabbed a small saw and a tape measure, then returned to the living room and proceeded to very carefully cut the legs off the easel. There were two more upstairs, so Alice had no cause to complain.

When he was finished, he set the easel near a seated Wisp, who had watched the entire proceedings with rapt attention. It was the perfect height for her to sit comfortably on a cushion and paint or draw—whatever she wanted to do.

Of course, the moment he turned his back, Pet walked right into the little pile of fine sawdust and rolled over, covering her black fur with pale, grainy flecks. Rosalie, exiting the kitchen, thought this was the funniest thing she'd ever seen, but Edward didn't quite agree. Wisp loved baths, but he doubted the kitten would follow her example. And sawdust couldn't be good for her digestive tract, so he didn't want to just let her clean herself.

"Pet bath," Wisp said, reaching for the kitten.

"Yes, but not by you." Edward picked up the dirty furball before Wisp could reach her. "I don't want to see you scratched to ribbons."

"Why would she be—oh!" Alice burst out laughing when she came down the stairs, a stack of paper in her hands. "Edward, you have to let me get a picture! Where's my phone?"

"Not now, Alice. Would you set Wisp up at the easel, please?" His attention was a little scattered right now, particularly since Pet had decided she didn't want to be held. She squirmed and twisted in his hands, showering the drop cloth with a cloud of fine sawdust.

"Edward, your house is better than reality TV, I swear to god." Rose laughed as he trudged into the kitchen holding a very unhappy little kitten. She dug her claws into the meat of his thumb, opened her mouth, and _squalled_. It was the first noise other than a purr that he'd heard out of her—she opened her mouth sometimes, but no sound ever escaped. He'd figured that her meow was maybe broken, which he now knew definitely wasn't the case. She yowled again when he plugged the kitchen sink and turned on the water.

Another cry sounded, this time from the living room. "Pet!" Wisp called, and a second later she was at Edward's side, pale face frantic as she caught the leg of his jeans in her fist and stared up at him. "Pet!"

"I'm not hurting her," Edward insisted, guiding the furious kitten under the running water.

Nobody seemed to believe him. Pet howled as the water touched her fur, and Wisp burst into tears.

"Pet!" she cried, tugging hard at Edward's jeans. "Pet, Pet, Pet!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Edward." Rosalie picked Wisp up under her arms and sat her on the counter next to the sink. "See, honey? He's not hurting her. She just doesn't think baths are as fun as you do."

Wisp stuck her hand under the fall of water as if to test that it was, in fact, just water. She watched his hands closely as he cradled the animal and ruffled its fur, washing all the sawdust away. "Pet," she pleaded, holding out her hands in entreaty. "Pet."

"Pet is fine, honey." Rosalie pulled a clean dishtowel out of a drawer and held it over her cupped hands to receive the animal as Edward finished rinsing her off. She wrapped the complaining kitten in the towel, then gave her to Wisp.

Edward inspected his hands. He'd carry some scars from this battle for a few days, but better him than Wisp.

"Pet," the girl crooned, holding the soggy kitten to her cheek. "Pet."

The cat's cries turned piteous, and Edward swore the little thing was cultivating Wisp's sympathy, playing up the horrible ordeal, though it had really lasted all of maybe three minutes. The cat that never meowed was now crying nonstop, reaching a paw out of the wet towel toward Wisp's face. She dipped her head, letting the draggly little toes make contact, pressing one of her awkward half-kisses against Pet's paw. "Bath," she soothed, her voice coaxing—something Edward had never heard from her before. "Bath, Pet. Good Pet." She kissed the animal's head over and over again.

"Good Pet who sliced me up," Edward muttered, but he couldn't be upset as he watched Wisp fawn over her kitten. Despite the trouble it caused, that cat was the best thing she'd been given so far. She loved her little furball, and if the way it kept rubbing its wet skull against her cheek was any indication, the feeling was mutual.

"Since she's miserable right now anyway, do you know where the collar you bought got to, Alice?" Edward asked, rinsing the blood from his hands. Pet's claws were tiny, but they still could do damage. He made a mental note to put some disinfectant on the scratches when he had a minute.

"I put it in the junk drawer since she doesn't have a tag anyway. Are you _sure_ you have to name her Pet?"

"Do you want to explain to Wisp that you're changing her name? Good luck with that." Edward dug in the "junk drawer"—a kitchen drawer that somehow seemed to attract various items without a home. Loose batteries, a pair of scissors, notepads, pens, bread-ties, and other things there may or may not at some point be a use for. He found the pink collar easily and turned it over in his hands. There was a little pink bell on it, which could get annoying, and a line of sparkling rhinestones. "Alice? Since when does a cat need bling?"

"She's Wisp's little princess," Alice replied. "Got a problem with that?"

It was no more ridiculous than anything else they'd done, he supposed. He adjusted the nylon collar as small as it could go, though it would still probably hang loose around that tiny kitten neck, then reached forward and fastened it on the towel-shrouded cat.

To say that all hell broke loose wasn't fair. To Wisp's credit, she didn't drop Pet, which would have been a problem considering the height of the counter.

She did scream, though, which scared the cat out of her arms anyway. Pet wriggled free of the towel, skittering across the counter top, Wisp too slow as she tried to grab the kitten again.

"Pet!" she shrieked. "Pet!"

Tears flowed down her cheeks and she sobbed openly, her pale face darkening toward red with the force of her cries.

And, suddenly, a new word left her mouth—a word she'd been afraid of when she first entered Edward's home. "No!" she cried. "No, no, no!"

The kitchen countertop was L-shaped, and Pet padded past the angle, standing cautiously near the edge. She looked ridiculous, her fur trying to puff in fright while she was still a wet, draggled mess.

Wisp moved faster than Edward had ever seen, though not the way he expected. Instead of getting to her knees and crawling along the counter after her cat, she slid to the floor.

To her feet.

And took a step.

Alice made a noise that sounded like she'd been punched in the stomach. Edward refused to look; his entire attention focused on the girl in front of him. On her _feet_.

Two more rushed, lurching steps brought her to the edge of the counter. One little corner of Edward's brain had a moment to acknowledge that she was short even on her feet, though maybe not as short as Alice. Wisp picked her kitten up and sank to the floor, her back to the cabinet, knees tucked close to her chest. "No," she repeated, gulping back the sobs that wanted to escape her throat. Edward could literally see her body jerk with the effort. "No. No. No!" Her hands scrabbled at the little pink collar. Thankfully it was a safety collar designed to come apart with a tug, and it fell easily into her hand with a little jingle. "_Bad_," she said severely, and threw the collar. It skittered across the kitchen floor, coming to rest by Rosalie's feet.

"I didn't have my phone!" Alice wailed.

Edward tore his eyes away from the girl on the floor, trading a long look with Rose. She was steady, if pale. "I don't think she even realized what she just did," he said uncertainly.

"Instinct." Rose nodded slowly. "She didn't stop to think about what she was doing. Her baby was in trouble, and she just...reacted."

Tears still spilled from Wisp's eyes, but she wasn't screaming anymore. She held her kitten close to her chest, rocking slowly. "No," she repeated, as if to herself. She certainly wasn't looking at anyone else in the room, anyway. "No. _No_."

"Little Wisp?" Edward called quietly. He knelt on the floor to get closer to her level. "Wisp, honey?"

Her body jerked, dark eyes blinking furiously. She screwed them up tight for a long moment before looking at Edward.

He scooted closer. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I told you before that I'm stupid—let's double that, okay? I should have known better. Pet doesn't have to wear a collar, and neither do you. You know that, right?" Yeah, he thought they'd dealt with the whole pet/human thing during an earlier meltdown, but obviously in her mind the lines were still extremely blurry. "Never again."

Dark eyes stared at him in entreaty, and Edward shifted closer. He raised a slow, cautious hand, brushing his knuckles against her wet cheek. She trembled, her body visibly shaking as she clutched her frightened kitten and stared at Edward.

"Good girl." He stroked the top of Pet's head with a fingertip, then rubbed Wisp's arm gently. "You're such a good girl, little Wisp. Pet's lucky to have someone who loves her so much."

"Bad," Wisp whispered. The unnatural color in her face was slowly fading into cream once more. "Bad. No."

"That's right. You can tell me no. You can tell any of us no. You have a voice, and we respect when you use it."

She blinked, then ducked to kiss Pet's head again. Edward couldn't bear to stop her as she clumsily removed her shirt and wrapped it around the little animal. "Pet," she crooned, and by some miracle the cat actually relaxed in its little cocoon, letting her hold it. "Good Pet."

"Yes, Pet is a very good cat." Edward exhaled a ragged breath. One of his scratches was still seeping a little. Wisp had been on her feet for barely a heartbeat. "And you're a very good girl. Esme didn't even have to set something up. You stood up to us all on your own."

* * *

_A/N: I wanted to get to the art supplies in this chapter, but Pet clearly had other plans. Lol, next time... Loves you, duckies!_


	24. Chapter 24

_A/N: Hi, duckies! This is a special update in honor of msrachelgarner's birthday! She's a sweetie and I love her!_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

"Alice, will you get her another shirt, please?" Edward shifted his body so he could sit next to Wisp, leaning back against the cabinets. She bundled Pet up tighter in her shirt and climbed into his lap readily, seemingly unconcerned that he'd been the one to actually bathe Pet and put a collar on her. "Hey, how are you?" He nuzzled the side of her head gently and his arms wound around her, stroking her silk-sleek skin. "I seem to always be apologizing to you, don't I? I wish I could explain to you that this is all new for me, too, little Wisp. I'm about as lost as you are."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, warm and sweet, docile now that the perceived threat was past. "Did those bastards put a collar on you?" Edward murmured. "Oh, hon. You don't belong to anyone but yourself. No one's going to leash you, or hurt you, or play sick mind games that have you all confused and lost. Rose is right—I can't shroud you in bubble wrap and pretend that the world doesn't exist. I _can_ do my best to give you back to yourself, though. It would be the best gift, I think, that anyone could give."

Alice returned with another long-sleeved shirt, and Edward helped Wisp into it. She was happy to wear it as long as he didn't disturb the cat, who had apparently decided the old shirt was a good nest. The stupid thing—which had caused this whole mess to begin with—had the audacity to blink slowly and _purr_ at him.

"Don't push it," Edward told the little black puffball. "You're on my list now."

"Um, I don't mean to interrupt all the cutesy cuddling," Alice broke in, "but I'm _so_ calling dibs on spilling the news."

"Let the girl breathe a little first," Rose warned. Pale but steady, she reached up above the refrigerator and pulled down the cake container. Edward watched in amusement as she cut a piece and put it in a bowl, then handed it to Wisp.

"Um." Wisp caught the spoon eagerly, shifting Pet into her lap. Edward chuckled even as he heard Alice's first breathless words on the phone.

"Jazzy! Jazz, oh my god, you need to call me back as soon as you get this message! Seriously, this is more important than anything else you will hear today. Do you hear me?"

"He's going to think someone had a heart attack or died or something," Rose muttered.

The thick, sweet smell of chocolate hung heavy around Wisp. Edward didn't begrudge her the treat—not after the monumental step she'd just taken, literally and figuratively.

"I don't think we should expect her to do it again. Not anytime soon, anyway." Edward stroked her hair, dark and shiny-clean. "Jasper said her legs can't handle it—walking—right now. Maybe it was one of those adrenaline-rush things, like when moms can lift cars off their kids or whatever?"

Rose shrugged. "She'll do what she's capable of. I'm certainly not going to push her."

Wisp extended a hand to Pet, who was vigorously washing the taint of a bath from her fur. She offered the cat a fingerful of frosting, but Edward gently pulled her hand away from the little black nose. "I don't think chocolate is good for cats," he said, releasing her wrist. Wisp frowned, but then offered the frosting to him instead.

Without really thinking about it, Edward accepted the treat. Only when the tip of her finger was in his mouth, his tongue curling softly against skin, did he realize his mistake. This was _not_ a good idea; it was exactly the sort of thing Dr. Lawton would consider damning evidence.

Wisp didn't seem to notice, or care. She withdrew her finger when Edward released it, and slipped the still-wet digit into her own mouth to remove any lingering hint of chocolate. There was absolutely no guile to her innocent gesture, and Edward tried to swallow past a suddenly dry throat. She didn't know. She had absolutely _no_ idea that there was anything even marginally wrong about what Edward had just done. He bit back a groan of frustration and forced himself to raise his eyes to Rose.

"That—I didn't even think about—"

"Chill, Edward." She flashed him an irritated look. "How many times do I have to drill it through your thick skull? You're supposed to be smart, Mr. Ph.D. You're not a predator. As long as she's comfortable, who gives a fuck what anyone else thinks? I think she'd be more upset if you suddenly stopped touching her and tried to go all professional. If she finds comfort in your touch—which she clearly does—then what's the problem?"

Edward wasn't sure he could answer that question. It all seemed so simple when Rose said it like that. He couldn't just touch Wisp and let her touch him however she pleased, though. She'd demonstrated both knowledge of and willingness to engage in sexual acts numerous times and, really, where was he supposed to draw the line? He saw and touched her naked body out of necessity when he bathed and dressed her. She slept literally on top of him, in his bed. His lap was her favorite place to be. Their relationship existed in a hazy grey area between acceptability and...well, unacceptability. While he didn't give a fuck about emotional boundaries, as he'd told Emmett on the phone, the physical was a lot more worrisome. No one would take the girl away from him simply because he loved her. It was only natural, wasn't it, to become attached to the girl in his care? But the state could and _would_ remove her from his home if they thought he was physically inappropriate with her.

Wisp gave a long sigh, shifting in his arms to set her empty bowl down. She stroked Pet's damp head and settled herself more comfortably in Edward's lap. He knew enough by now to guess that she wanted to sleep, but he wasn't so thrilled about staying where he was on the hard kitchen floor. His ass was already starting to hurt.

"Come on, pretty girl," he said, moving Pet and her wet shirt-nest to the floor. Wisp's arms slid around his shoulders as he stood, and he felt her yawn against his chest. "I'm skeptical about how comfortable it is to sleep on me like this, you know. I bet you'd be a lot more comfortable if you'd just learn to sleep on a bed or couch like a normal person. No one will hurt you for it, you know. Not here. Not ever again."

"She can't go to sleep!" Alice objected, phone still held to her ear as she followed them into the living room. "We got all set up—look."

Edward wanted to tell her to leave Wisp alone, but the girl in his arms did actually look curious about all the new stuff in the room now that Pet was no longer crying. Experimentally, he kicked her cushion over to the sawn-off easel and set her down on it.

A big piece of stiff, sturdy paper was already clipped in place, and Alice produced a plastic palette and a case full of small tubes of paint. Wisp watched with wide-eyed astonishment as Alice showed her how to squeeze just a small amount of paint onto the palette, then use a brush to apply it to the paper.

She took to painting as swiftly as she'd taken to colored pencils, and Edward didn't think he'd ever seen anything more beautiful than her rapt face as she began to handle her new art supplies. Her cheeks glowed a warm, healthy pink, and she sucked her lower lip into her mouth from time to time in a gesture of deep concentration. He couldn't see her paper from where he sat, but he didn't much care. The finished product wasn't the point.

"You know what you have to do now," Rose said quietly.

Edward closed his eyes. Yes. He knew. But she'd already done so much today. Did they _have_ to keep pushing? "I'll call him. But I'm going to try to convince him that tomorrow is soon enough."

"Good luck with that. I think you already hit your procrastination limit with Emmett. He's easygoing most of the time but you know how he gets about work."

Yeah, Edward knew.

Alice was on the phone with Esme, who wished she had been there to witness Wisp's first steps but unfortunately was with a client until evening. Edward tried to tune out Alice's squeals as he accessed Emmett's phone number and hit the call button.

Rosalie was right. Emmett was sympathetic, but he refused to wait any longer. He said Edward could decide whether to involve Garrett again or not but, regardless, Wisp would have to be asked questions today.

Edward couldn't see a point to refusing Garrett, so, promptly twenty minutes after he hung up the phone, Emmett and the old man were walking in the door.

To Edward's surprise, Wisp smiled broadly at Garrett and even bounced a little on her cushion. He expected her to recognize the sketch artist, but not to be so happy to see him. After all, she'd only met the man once, and it hadn't exactly been the best experience.

Garrett settled himself next to her on the floor slowly, his old joints popping as he moved. "Hello again," he greeted her. "What's that you've got there?"

She proudly showed him her new case of paints, her brushes and palette, and Garrett exclaimed dutifully over each piece.

"Someone must like you an awful lot to bring you nice things like that." He leaned back on his arms and studied the picture she was working on. "And it also looks like someone's been reading to you."

Edward rose at that, stepping around to see just what she'd been working on.

"Peter," Wisp said proudly, pointing to the paper.

It was an uncanny copy, almost down to the brushstroke, of the boy who would never grow up, the first illustration in her book. Wisp's artistic talent was clearly not limited to pencil drawings.

She shifted onto her knees, crawling the few feet to the coffee table where Rose had left the book. Opening it carefully, she leafed to the correct page and set the book carefully in Garrett's lap. "Peter," she said again.

"Yes, it certainly is. You know, I may be old but I'm not too old to recognize Peter Pan. Especially when he's been painted by such a talented artist."

Wisp cocked her head to the side, her dark eyes intent as she regarded the weathered old man beside her. There was a smear of green paint on her cheek where she'd reached up to scratch an itch; the color brightened the brown of her liquid eyes, making them sparkle. She raised a hand and touched her chest. "Wisp," she said, then waited expectantly.

Garrett's creased face lit up with a smile. "Garrett," he said, imitating her gesture. "You've come a long way since I saw you last."

"No kidding," Alice broke in. "Emmett, you're going to be _so_ jealous when you hear what we saw her do!"

"What did she do?"

"She walked!" Alice clasped her hands together, her face bright.

"Bullshit."

"She really did," Rosalie assured him. "It was maybe three steps and I don't think she realized—let's just say it's a long story and leave it at that for now? We're kind of in the middle of something. Or, she is, anyway."

"I _wish_ I had my phone ready," Alice lamented. "But it all happened so fast, Em. I called Jazz right away after, though."

Edward listened with only one ear, most of his concentration centered on the girl on the floor. She was frowning at her case of paints, a scowl of concentration marring her smooth forehead.

"What is it, little Wisp?" he asked, kneeling behind her and Garrett.

She looked at him helplessly, worrying the flesh of her lower lip again.

"What is it? Whatever you need, we can figure it out."

Slowly she reached into the case of paints, selecting a tube of green she'd already used. She offered it to Edward, who took it with a frown of his own. "What do you want me to do with this?" he asked. "I'm not an artist like you."

The frustration on her soft face made him hurt. It wasn't her fault that he couldn't understand what she wanted. Never before had her inability to communicate seemed to bother her quite so much. She tangled a hand in the long strands of hair at the side of her head and tugged, mimicking the gesture Edward often made when he was frustrated.

"Hey, don't do that," he soothed, catching her hand and gently pulling it away from her hair. "Don't hurt yourself. We can figure this out."

"Wisp," she said, touching her sternum again. She pointed to him next. "Edward." Her hand fell, and she tapped the tube of paint with a soft finger. Her dark eyes flicked to him expectantly.

"Paint," Edward said slowly, hoping he understood what she wanted. "It's called paint."

"Paint?" She sounded out the word slowly. "Paint."

"Is your Edward being stupid again?" He sighed. "Should I have been giving you words all along? You're very smart to ask for them. I'm sorry...again." Really, how much simpler could it possibly be? He should have been naming things for her from the beginning—or at least the point at which he realized she had language. All the food she'd eaten, the clothing she wore, even Pet's toys. They were all opportunities to build her vocabulary, and he'd missed every single one.

Wisp ignored his grumpiness, instead selecting a tube of bright yellow paint and exchanging it with the green one in his hand. She waited expectantly.

"It's still paint," Edward said slowly. "All of it—it's all paint, honey."

Garrett chuckled beside them. "No disrespect meant, Edward, but I think I can take it from here." He pulled a fresh sheet of paper over, opened the tube of yellow paint, and used his finger to smear a little smudge of paint. "Yellow," he said clearly. "Well, actually—" He flipped the tube over in his hand. "They want you to call it canary or something like that—I don't have my glasses on—but for our purposes, we'll just call it yellow."

"Yellow," Wisp repeated happily, then offered him another tube of paint.

Edward stood, his knees a little sore. Yeah, Garrett had this. And as far as he was concerned, the longer she kept him busy with the names of colors, the longer they could put off asking about Dr. Gerandy.

"Did she really walk, man?" Emmett demanded. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you have changed your mind about pushing her today?"

Emmett didn't answer.

"Well, there you go. If all you want from her are answers, what does it matter if she can walk or not?"

Edward knew he was being unfair; he did. Emmett was his friend, and he'd been a huge help from the very first night they found Wisp. But the strange protectiveness he felt for that girl made him dislike anything that upset her, and the police prodding her to draw Dr. Gerandy was _definitely_ going to upset her.

"Edward!" Alice was the first to speak. "Do we need to bribe you with cake too? Chill out. Emmett only wants to find the bad guys."

"And I only want to keep her safe and happy."

"Which we can best do by working together to find whoever did this to her." Emmett's voice wasn't angry. If anything, he sounded sorry. "Look, man, I get it. I do. She just...it's like she makes you want to protect her, you know, because she's all little and shit. She could be a tearjerker PSA even without weepy music. But you gotta understand, we're like..." He thought for a minute. "We're like a team except, instead of playing a sport, we protect Wisp. We've all got our own ways to do that. You take care of her every day, and Rosie gives you breaks even though you don't want them. Alice spoils her with stuff. Jasper's her doc, and you let him do his thing even though she doesn't like it because you know it's important. And I'm the guy who's gonna catch those fuckers who did this to her, so they can never touch her again."

Edward knew all that. He wasn't stupid, wasn't naive, and he'd spent enough time hammering those very words into his own head that he _ought_ to be able to believe them by now. "I get it," he said, battling frustration at himself, not Emmett. "I know you're not the bad guy."

Emmett laughed. "Dude, I know you don't think that. I'm telling you that I get it—it's your _job_ to be overprotective as fuck about her. I'd be worried if you weren't, and I'm not pissed or anything. Just...you gotta understand that I have to do this. It's not that I want to."

"Yeah." Edward got it. He really did. But that girl...she awoke something in him he'd never felt before. When she cried, it was like nothing else in the world mattered except fixing whatever made her hurt. If he could use a pot of glue to bind all the shattered pieces of her back together again and somehow fix her, he would, but human beings weren't like vases or bathroom tiles. They didn't fit back together again nearly so easily.

His eyes traveled to the floor where Wisp and Garrett were busy with her paints. Both of them had smears of color all over their hands at this point—she'd made more of a mess with the old man than she had by herself, by far. Her bath water was going to turn interesting shades tonight; he already knew it. But there was something about her when she was learning...something about the keen attention in her sparkling eyes, the way she threw herself fully into the learning process. She murmured the words Garrett gave her, repeating them over and over, committing to memory not only the sounds but their mouthfeel, the way they shaped her lips and moved her tongue. She held her fingers up to her mouth, speaking against them, testing the flow of air of aspirated phonemes. It wasn't just the association she wanted, color to word, but all of it, everything, every nuance and connotation she could possibly derive from the process with her limited vocabulary. She didn't just speak the words; she _felt_ them in a way, Edward realized, he hadn't even dreamed was possible. In her own unique way, she was trying to understand everything she could now that she'd been given the chance.

Garrett was the epitome of patience with her, never once complaining though his old body had to be getting stiff and sore sitting on the floor so long. He repeated words as many times as she wanted, and he said nothing about the colorful mess they'd made of their hands. If she had to get to know a police sketch artist, Edward decided—something most people prayed they never had to do—he was glad it was Garrett.

But, all too soon, Alice finished explaining Wisp's first steps to Emmett and Garrett ran out of colors. Edward watched, his anxiety skyrocketing, as Emmett and Garrett exchanged a little nod.

"So," Garrett said as Wisp carefully stowed her paints back in their case, "I heard you went to the doctor the other day."

Wisp flinched visibly at the word _doctor_. "Bad," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"Yes, visiting the doctor isn't always fun," Garrett agreed. "My doc says it's getting about time for me to retire—arthritis, you know? Well," he amended, "I guess you don't, and I hope you never do, missy."

Wisp picked up her brush again and toyed with the handle. "Ow," she said quietly. "Bad."

"I hear you knew a doctor before, too. Do you want to talk about him?"

Wisp remained quiet.

"Gerandy, was his name, you said? Dr. Gerandy?"

She froze, the paintbrush falling from her hand to land softly on the drop cloth below her, and her face drained of color. Her eyes went to the closed door, then scanned the room.

"He's not here, little Wisp," Edward said, crouching behind her and running a soothing hand up her arm. He couldn't just stand there and let her be afraid; he just couldn't. "You're fine. You're safe."

Wisp looked up at him, her dark eyes overflowing with uncertainty.

"I promise." Edward stroked her cheek gently, drawing his knuckles slowly toward her chin. "No one can hurt you here. I won't let them."

"Edward." She smiled tentatively, the gesture hesitant, the way her kitten approached unknown objects.

"Wisp." He touched his forehead to hers for a moment, feeling a warm breath against his cheek before he made himself pull away. "Try to be good for Garrett, okay? Just try, sweetheart, that's all we want."

"Dr. Gerandy," Garrett said again. He produced a clean piece of paper and set it before her on the floor. "Can you draw him? It would make Emmett and I very happy."

Wisp looked at the paper and the charcoal pencils he offered, then back at her easel with the nearly finished painting of Peter Pan. Her reluctance was palpable, and Edward wasn't sure what she would do. Her hands remained tightly clasped in her lap.

"Dr. Gerandy," Garrett repeated. He tapped the paper with one finger. "I know you don't want to, but it's real important."

Wisp chewed on her lip, worrying the pink flesh so much that Edward was afraid she might make herself bleed again. She chewed and chewed, finally unclasping her hands and slowly reaching toward her brush. She shifted away from Garrett, watching him with newborn suspicion as she dipped up some drying paint from her palette and raised her hand to the painting of Peter.

"No, sweetie," Emmett said gently, taking the brush out of her hand. Edward saw the discomfort on his friend's face, how clearly he didn't want to push her despite needing the information. "Listen to Garrett, now. Help us, please."

"Dr. Gerandy." Garrett tapped the paper again.

Edward saw her already-tense body stiffen an instant before she reacted.

She pushed the paper away violently, scattering charcoal pencils across the drop cloth. "No!" The word was shrill as her panic escalated. "No! Bad!"

"Hey, little Wisp, it's okay." Edward touched her shoulder gently and she turned, holding her arms out to him imploringly. It was a request he could never, ever deny her, and he picked her up as he climbed to his feet, settling her body against his chest. She buried her head in her favorite hiding spot between his neck and shoulder, her body tense and unhappy.

"No," she repeated, pleading now. "No, no, no. Bad. _Bad_."

"Okay." Edward kissed her hair. "Okay. It's okay." He raised his head to Emmett. "We're done now. Give her back the brush, please."

Emmett held out the little paintbrush and Wisp snatched it back quickly, holding it to her chest and smearing paint on her shirt. Edward didn't have the heart to care. This wasn't a full meltdown, but she'd told them in no uncertain terms what she wanted and he wasn't going to argue with her.

"Sorry, Em," he said, "but we're done playing this game. Any other witness has the right to say no—she does, too."

To his surprise, Emmett didn't argue. "Yeah," he said, reaching out a hand to help Garrett to his feet. "I guess after hearing that word all her life, it's only right that she gets a chance to say it."

Edward sat on the couch so he could hold Wisp better, adjusting her in his lap, glad when she burrowed against him even though she refused to let go of her paintbrush. What did a little paint matter, really? Her body relaxed minutely as she seemed to realize he wasn't going to force her to do anything, but she made no attempt to leave the safety of his arms.

"What will you do?" Edward asked, watching Emmett over the dark curve of Wisp's head.

Emmett shrugged. "We have a name. We start there and see what happens."

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for all the sweet reviews! I don't have time to respond to each and every one, but I appreciate them more than I can say!_

_We're getting close to a point where we won't be following every single day so closely, just fyi. Gonna let some time pass and let Wisp and Edward have their nice little bubble. Remember, there's a faq for Wisp at my blog (dconioned dot blogspot dot com) as well as Wisp's backstory, if you're so inclined to read it. It is NOT necessary, and everything WILL be explained in the main story...eventually. Mwah! Loves you, duckies. _

_Once more, a very happy birthday to msrachelgarner!_


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: Happy birthday to _jamesramsey09_! You are a wonderful chica, and I promise this update has NO SPIDERS in it! Just for you!_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

The nightmares started a week later.

Academically, Edward knew that human beings could do amazing things in their sleep. Studies proved that people were capable of walking, talking, eating, having sex, and even performing complicated, ritualistic behavior while remaining fully asleep.

Witnessing it was another matter.

Up until now, Wisp had slept like the dead. She didn't snore or whistle as she breathed, and she barely moved at all. She slept like she did everything else—with a single-minded intensity that Edward could only admire.

When the nightmares started, she still remained stationary in his bed, on his chest. Her body did not flail; she didn't strike out against her nighttime terrors with her arms or legs. If anything she grew even stiller, her body tensing, muscles tightening and holding to a point where Edward knew she'd be sore in the morning. No, it wasn't movement that belied the fear in her mind.

It was the noises.

Edward swore he'd never heard a human being make the sort of noises she made when a nightmare took her. Rather than the high, hysterical cries that accompanied a bad meltdown, these were...almost animal. Low, guttural noises escaped her mouth, sounds that came from deep inside her abdomen. Terse and clipped, like her body couldn't sustain such a pain-filled sound for more than a handful of seconds at a time, they came over and over and over until Edward was able to break through whatever hold her unconscious had on her body and wake her.

The nightmares didn't come every night, for which Edward was incredibly thankful, but he came to learn that they soured the next day without fail. Wisp was tense and fearful the day after a nightmare, and she didn't want to do anything except sit in Edward's lap. She cried when he tried to put her down, just as she had those first few days after he brought her back from the hospital, and—perhaps worst of all—she refused to speak. Not a word. She struggled against her body's need for sleep, refusing the naps she so badly needed, until she was so tense, exhausted, and cranky that she invariably broke down and cried herself to sleep sometime late in the day.

The day after a nightmare, Edward felt like they were back at square one—like she was still the girl who wedged herself behind the couch, filthy and terrified, incapable of being soothed by language. He couldn't find it in himself to be angry or frustrated with her—not when he saw how haunted those big brown eyes were—but the day after a nightmare left neither of them in what he'd call the best of moods.

It was fitting, then—just their luck—that, the night before Scott Williams was to make his first scheduled home visit, Edward woke to the sound of low, terrified cries and a girl as tense as a rock curled in a little ball on his chest.

While his mind was still half-asleep, his eyes blinking away the blurry remnants of unconsciousness, Edward's body was already reacting. He sat up, wrapping his arms around the hard little lump of girl in his lap, his hands searching for her shoulders and then shaking gently.

"Wisp," he croaked, his voice thick and raw with sleep. "Wisp, baby girl, wake up, please. It's okay. You're safe, sweetheart. Come on, you can do it."

Those cries absolutely gutted him. He had no idea a human being could make sounds like that, and every time he heard them he shuddered internally, terrified of what her mind did while Wisp slept. He could feel her body convulse with each cry, tightening further, abusing what little muscle mass she had. Her face scrunched and twisted so tight that it was almost unrecognizable and, eerily, her eyes and cheeks were dry and tearless.

"Wisp, honey." Edward shook her gently again, then found the tight rock of her fist and tried to ease it open. Her fingers weren't budging. "Wisp, come on. It's not real. Open your eyes and you'll see." He dipped his fingers in the cup of water he always kept by his bedside, then tapped her cheek sharply with the wetness. "Wake up. Come on, you can do it."

Her body flinched, tensing further at the sudden cold, wet touch, and her cry increased in pitch for a long moment before she ran out of breath, the keening plea cut abruptly short. She dragged a ragged breath into her lungs, her body twitching with a sudden jerk that Edward knew well by now. She was waking up.

"That's it," he cajoled, dipping his head to bring his mouth close to her ear, hoping to be heard over whatever nightmare held her captive. "That's it. Relax, sweet girl. Open your eyes and come back to me. I promise, whatever you're afraid of, none of it is real." Well, not _now_, he added silently. He had no doubt that, whatever nightmares held her hostage, they were indeed real at some point in time. "Good girl, open your eyes."

After a few more minutes, she did. The glassy, far-away look in her eyes, as if she weren't truly there, had frightened Edward the first few times he saw it. Now, weeks after her first nightmare, he was growing accustomed to the unnerving sight.

She blinked a few times, squinting in the dim golden wash of lamplight, her breaths loud and shallow. In this in-between moment, Edward had no idea if she really knew where she was, or even that she wasn't alone. Her face and hair were damp with sweat, and he suspected her body would be, too, if he reached under the baggy flannel of her pajamas to touch her skin.

"Deep breaths," he said softly, pulling her still-tense body closer as he leaned back against the headboard of his bed. "Come on, little Wisp, you can do it. Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe." He placed his mouth near her ear again and inhaled for a slow count of five, then held for a moment before exhaling equally slowly. "Good girl, you can do it. Show me you're all right." Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Whether purposefully or not, after a minute her breaths began to sync with his. She sucked air desperately into her lungs, her body fighting for the oxygen it knew it needed. Sharp, quick breaths smoothed, slowly lengthening and easing to match Edward's.

Only then did the tears begin to fall.

She cried silently, her body still stiff and unresponsive, her face a mask of defeat. Edward didn't need words to understand how she felt in that moment—her body told him everything. She felt like whatever real-life nightmare she'd been through, it was never going to end. She'd never be free of it, because she couldn't control what her brain did while she slept. No matter how much Edward held her, he couldn't stop the demons in her own head.

But oh, god, he wished he could.

"I'm so, so sorry," he told her, whispering the words against her ear, smelling the sharp salt of her tears. "I'd take it away if I could, little Wisp. You know I would."

He held her for a long time, ignoring the glowing numbers on his digital clock as they ticked closer and closer to morning. His hands rubbed slow, soothing circles over her back and arm, fingers easing through the snarls in her long hair, trying to coax away the tears. By now, he knew that she wasn't going to fall asleep again—not after a nightmare. They were both up for the day.

"Come on," he said, shifting her in his arms. "You need to relax, honey. I want to try something, okay?"

She made no response, verbal or otherwise, to make him think she'd heard him.

Still, Edward pressed on. He'd never been a believer in relaxation techniques, meditation, or any of that shit, but he was willing to try just about anything to help Wisp relax. He hated the way she moved around the day after a nightmare, like an old woman, her whole body obviously in pain. Tanya had been a massage therapist and had been able to do wonders the few times he'd been tense and upset and she took pity on him. He had no training and little grasp of anatomy beyond the basics, but he figured he probably couldn't do any harm.

Starting with her sock-clad feet, Edward began slowly massaging her body. This would probably work better if she lay down, but he didn't even bother trying. For the next twelve hours or so, she was stubbornly going to stay in his lap, not moving unless absolutely necessary. He did what he could in the position they were in, trying not to wish for things that he knew were impossible.

Even her feet were tense, the muscles tight and hard, and Edward worked his thumbs cautiously into the unhappy knots of tissue around her instep. She had ridiculously high arches he realized, moving his hands, holding one foot at a time, starting gently and then getting a little firmer, digging hesitantly into the tense, unhappy tissue. Wisp made a small sound, something like surprise, but she didn't pull her foot away from his hands. He was distracting her, at least, if nothing else.

Edward kept his touches gentle for the most part, as he had no real idea what he was doing. He didn't _think_ a massage could injure someone, but he certainly didn't want to find out. His hands squeezed and then released, urging her muscles to release, too, to relax as he relaxed her. He worked slowly from her feet to her knees, only moving on when he felt the painful knots in her body ease. Wisp sat quietly in his lap, no longer crying, her head pillowed on his shoulder and her soft eyes watching his hands.

When he reached her knees, Edward switched to her hands. He worked at her palms and the meat of her thumbs, smoothing his touch up her arms, headed for her shoulders. The farther he got, the easier it became. It was like her body recognized what he was trying to do, relaxing and loosening under his gentle, kneading touch.

Wisp turned readily in his arms when he guided her to face him, and her legs shifted to straddle his. She cuddled close, chest to chest, a small sound of surprised happiness tickling his neck as his hands started at her lower back, moving toward her shoulders and then back down. The tense muscles went limp under his gentle, seeking hands, her body conforming to his like putty. He rubbed her back gently, smoothing his hands over the soft flannel of her pajamas, loving the quiet, pleased little sigh exhaled against his skin.

She did not fall asleep again—that was asking far too much of a simple unskilled massage—but she did sit quietly with him, tears gone, until the dim light of an overcast dawn filtered through the blinds. Edward sighed, hugging her warm little body close to his chest. He was exhausted, and this was going to be a _long_ day.

For both of them.

Though Wisp usually took a bath at night, Edward opted to give her one this morning. She was covered in dried sweat and tears, and he hoped the hot water would help soothe her further.

Wisp let him put her in the tub with only a small whine of displeasure, but she absolutely would not let him leave her side. Red-rimmed brown eyes watched him warily each time he moved, and Edward knew better than to push her. The last thing they needed today was a full-scale meltdown.

"I really, really hope you'll be good today," he told her as he rinsed the conditioner out of her hair. He still didn't understand why girls needed _two_ bottles of hair stuff when they cleaned, but Alice had left it and it seemed a pity to waste the bottle. "Not that you're ever, well, bad or anything. I just—Scott hasn't seen you since he let me bring you home, and I'd really like him to be as proud of you as I am."

She said nothing, still watching him semi-suspiciously as if she thought he might disappear at any moment.

"I send him progress reports every week, you know," he continued, carefully wiping at the tear tracks on her cheeks. "He's had a hard time believing some of them—I know, because he called Emmett and Jasper and even Carlisle for verification, even though Carlisle's hardly ever here. I'm not saying you have to perform like a trained seal or anything, but this _really_ wasn't the best night for a nightmare, you know?"

Wisp didn't speak, but she reached out and touched his cheek with her wet fingers.

"Yeah, I know. It's not your fault. I hate that you have to have those nightmares at all. It guts me to hear you hurt."

During breakfast, which Wisp barely picked at—_not_ usual for her—Edward was unsurprised to get a call from Rosalie. Today was supposed to be one of her "babysitting" days, but everyone knew Scott was coming for an official visit.

The minute she heard his voice, Rose knew what sort of night they'd had.

"As soon as he leaves, let me know," she said. "I'll be over to give you a break."

"It won't do any good," Edward said, though he sorely wished it were that simple. By mid-afternoon he'd be dragging, desperate for a nap. "You know she won't stay with you when she gets like this."

The one time they'd tried had _not_ gone over well. Normally Wisp didn't have a problem being left with Rosalie for short periods of time—though, perhaps oddly, no one else—but the day after a nightmare she refused to leave Edward.

"Call me anyway. We'll figure something out."

Yeah, he'd try. Maybe at the very least Rose could distract Wisp, even if the girl refused to leave his arms.

"You know you have nothing to be worried about, right? Scott's on your side now—as much as an official can be. He just needs to see for himself how she's doing."

"Yeah." Edward rubbed at his messy hair with one hand, watching Wisp pick at her breakfast. Maybe he'd ask Rose to pick up a pizza for lunch to tempt her, since she wasn't eating. Wisp had never tried pizza, but he couldn't imagine anyone not liking it. "I get that. I just...this was the last thing we needed today, you know? I wish I could call and tell him to reschedule, but it'll look suspicious."

"He works with other cases, too. I'm sure the man knows that everyone has off days."

Except, Edward had wanted so badly to show Scott a _good_ day. Wisp had made incredible progress in the weeks she'd been with him, and he felt an intense sort of need to show her caseworker in person what an intelligent, perceptive girl she was. Though Scott had progress reports and video to back those up, Edward still felt a pang of anxious fear that the man might take her away if this visit didn't go well. Logically he knew it was highly unlikely—the process for removing someone from a caregiver wasn't so immediate. The fear came, not from the likelihood of the scenario, but from the devastation it would cause, should it happen. What would happen to all of Wisp's accomplishments if she were taken away? How far would she regress, and for how long? Would she ever really be able to trust again?

More selfishly, Edward didn't want her to go. Despite the nightmares, the infrequent meltdowns, the changes to his house and routine, he didn't want to lose her. She...did something to him. It wasn't just about being a good Samaritan anymore and, if he was honest, it hadn't been for quite some time. He didn't just want to help a poor girl caught in an unfortunate circumstance. He wanted to help _Wisp_.

"I love her, you know." Edward couldn't say for sure just why he trusted Rose not to use the information against him, but he did.

"Uh...I hate to break it to you, Edward, but that's not news. It's _so_ not news. That's like...like telling me politicians are self-centered, or New Jersey smells funny." She snorted indelicately. "Everyone knows you love that little girl. We do, too, believe it or not. Even Carlisle, who she doesn't like."

It wasn't so much that she didn't _like_ Carlisle, but she refused to really get to know him. Edward didn't bother to correct Rosalie, though. It didn't matter all that much at this point. What mattered was making the best impression they could when Scott arrived.

To that end, he said goodbye and ended the call, then hustled both of them into the bathroom. Wisp had already had a bath this morning, but he needed a shower. Most of the time he didn't bother on a day after a nightmare, but he really needed it today.

"Okay," he told Wisp, looking her in the eyes. "I know you're not going to be happy either way, but I'm giving you a choice. I _have_ to take a shower. You can wait for me in here, or you can stay outside with Pet. I promise to be as quick as I can, but you're afraid of the shower and even if you weren't, I'm not taking you in there with me."

She stared back at him wordlessly, worrying the soft swell of her lower lip with her teeth.

"Here." Edward set her down on the counter next to the sink and handed her her toothbrush. "You brush your teeth, okay? I'm going to shower, and I promise to hurry. It's a...what do you call it...a compromise."

Her suspicious gaze didn't waver even as she accepted the toothbrush, so Edward wasn't surprised when she cried out softly as he stepped away from her. God, that sound tore him to pieces. He was _not_ good about putting his foot down where Wisp was concerned, but sometimes he just didn't have a choice. He needed to shower and she needed to...not be there while he did it.

Trying to ignore her upset noises the best he could, Edward stepped into the shower stall, closed the door behind him, and tossed his clothes over the top before turning on the water. The rushing sound muffled the rising noise of Wisp's frightened cries, and for that he was grateful. Even a five-minute shower was going to be difficult if he had to listen to her the whole time. When she cried, all he wanted to do was pick her up and soothe whatever it was that hurt her. The fact that he couldn't this time...yeah, he definitely didn't like it.

A soft thump met his ears as he quickly scrubbed his body. He couldn't see through the frosted glass door, but he suspected Wisp had slipped off the counter and was now on the floor again. Edward made a mental note to be careful he didn't step on her when he left the shower—the last time he'd done this, she'd waited literally right on the other side of the glass until he finished showering.

Taking a deep breath, Edward tried to prepare himself mentally for the scheduled visit. Scott would come to the house, and he'd look around. He'd ask questions. Everything would be fine—not like his first visit, when he was accompanied by that witch of a psychiatrist. Scott wouldn't be cowed by the older, more experienced woman this time. He'd be able to judge for himself, really see what sort of person Wisp was and the relationship they shared. Everything would be fine.

As Edward stuck his head under the shower spray to rinse away shampoo, a gust of cool air swirled into the shower. He opened his eyes and immediately got a stinging eyeful of soap, but not before catching a blurry glimpse of the open shower door and a little figure huddled at the base of it.

"Shit!"

Edward swore it felt exactly like he'd been dumped into a slapstick cartoon as he frantically tried to shut the water off, grab a towel, clear the soap from his stinging eyes, and remain on his feet at the same time.

"Wisp," he said finally, clutching the towel around his waist, soapy water still dripping from his hair. Even his mouth tasted sort of like shampoo. "Wisp, no."

She stared at him with those huge eyes, and he had absolutely no idea whether she paid any attention to what he was saying or if it was just his ridiculous appearance catching her interest.

Edward knelt on the floor of the shower and caught her chin in one hand, urging her to meet his eyes. "No," he said, clear and firm—the first time, he thought, he'd ever really seriously told her to stop.

The color drained from her face as those big eyes widened further, and then she burst into tears.

Edward laughed.

It wasn't an appropriate reaction; he knew that. But he was tired, wet, soapy, and beyond stressed out about her caseworker's visit—and, suddenly, it all seemed so incredibly ridiculous.

"What on earth am I going to do with you?" He stepped carefully out of the shower and lifted her into his arms, letting her cling to him as tightly as she wanted. "Come on, you sweet, ridiculous thing. I have to get dressed. And maybe put a lock on the shower door."

She gulped back sobs, clinging tightly, her little fingers digging almost painfully into his shoulders, but Edward said nothing. Yeah, they were obviously going to have to work on boundaries, but he was going to have to find another way to do it if a firm 'no' led so perilously close to a meltdown. He dressed quickly in his closet, giving up on the idea of washing all the soap out of his hair until at least tonight, maybe tomorrow. Whenever she finally let him out of her sight for more than thirty seconds at a time.

"Now," he said, still rubbing at his hair with the towel as he exited the closet and picked a begging Wisp up again, "we've got some stuff to talk about, you and me." Carrying her downstairs, he settled them both on the couch. Attempting to put her down was pointless. "You may or may not remember Scott, but he's coming to see you today. I'm sorry you're not having a good day, but I'd really love it if we could turn that around. Show him, you know, what a great girl you are."

A small, hiccuping breath caught in her throat as she watched him, eyes glassy with tears.

"You're such a good girl," Edward added, a little softer. "I want him to know how amazing you are."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

"It's open," Edward called. Getting up and down to answer the door wasn't big on his list of priorities when Wisp refused to leave his lap.

Edward was expecting Scott.

He wasn't expecting the woman beside him.

"Mr. Cullen," Dr. Lawton said, face blank, eyes taking in the room, the couch...the girl on his lap.

* * *

_A/N: I am supposed to blame the birthday girl for the cliffhanger - she said it was okay!_

_This update was a little shorter than normal because the next one's gonna be a doozy! *cue maniacal laugh* Loves you, duckies!_

_Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I'm so glad that most of you felt glad Wisp was able to say no, and have that respected by the people in her new life! Remember, if you review anonymously I can't answer your questions!_


	26. Chapter 26

_A/N: I'm baaaaack! Who missed me? Okay, I know, you missed Wisp and Wisperward, not me, but I'll take it! I'm feeling better now and, maybe more importantly, I seriously missed these characters! I'm not sure what day weekly updates will be on now…not Wednesdays, but we'll see. This update is for _**anhanninen**_, author of Fatherhood, Formula, and other F Words, because it's her birthday! Happy birthday, chica! _

_For those wondering, the "other story" was moved to a private blog. I'm okay with this because it's really difficult to cultivate and retain readers for a blog. I should know—I have…two subscribers, I think. Lol, so you should subscribe to mine! Wisp's backstory is there, and I write random, rambly posts about stuff like poor grammar, my fanfic pet peeves, etc. dconioned dot blogspot dot com. _

_Also…big news for me! I received an invitation to AO3 (Archive of Our Own) yesterday, so I'll be uploading my fanfic over there over the next couple of weeks. I COMPLETELY endorse this website! It's a fanfic archive made by fans, for fans, sensitive to the needs of fans. Yes, it's silly, but now that I'm there I totally feel like I've "arrived"! ;-)_

_ALSO…(god, I go silent for a couple of weeks and then have too much to say!) Wisp now has a Facebook group! I know NOTHING about Facebook and I'm not on it, but I'm seriously flattered nonetheless. /groups/475494895803340/_

* * *

**Wisp**

Scott sent a speaking look Edward's way—a look that made it clear that the psychiatrist's presence was not his idea.

Edward didn't care.

Dr. Lawton had no business in his house, or anywhere near Wisp. Both Scott and the doctor at the hospital had confirmed that Wisp belonged to the state now, and her progress was overseen by her social worker. Dr. Lawton, a representative from Child Protective Services sent to give an initial diagnosis and recommend placement for Wisp, had no authority now.

"_Doctor_ Cullen," he corrected, pulling Wisp closer to his chest. This was really not the day to fuck with him and if Dr. Lawton thought she could pull the same crap she had before and get away with it again, she was sorely mistaken. He'd been civil on her first visit because she had the power of the state behind her. Now she didn't, and Edward wasn't feeling particularly cordial.

Neither, apparently, was Wisp. She turned to face the new voices, and her expression instantly blanked. Edward had wondered whether she would remember the doctor and social worker, but there was no need to wonder anymore. She twisted her body in his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. Sharp little heels dug into his back, and Edward only just managed not to wince. She buried her head against his shoulder, gripped his shirt in her fists, and burst into tears.

Edward's initial reaction of _now see what you did_ was not helped by Dr. Lawton's reaction. She raised one manicured eyebrow at Wisp huddled in Edward's lap, wrapped around him like a backward coat, and tapped a red lacquered nail on the handle of her briefcase. Edward had absolutely no problem interpreting the gesture, and he had to repress the instant desire to flip her the bird in response.

"Mr. Williams?" he said instead, doing his best to infuse the words with the correct level of polite reproach.

Scott flushed, and he rubbed the back of his neck. Edward hoped he was more than a little uncomfortable. What the hell was going on? Why was that witch of a psychiatrist here? And why, if the plan had somehow changed, didn't Scott call him? He doubted that anything could stop Lawton from being a pushy bitch, but some advance notice would have been nice.

"I'm getting a strange feeling of _déjà vu_," Lawton said, stepping forward into the cabin. "This is exactly how she sounded most of the ride to West Highland."

"Mr. Williams?" Edward repeated. Yeah, okay, outright ignoring the psychiatrist was maybe a little childish. Or a lot childish. Whatever. He was running on considerably less than a full night's sleep, and both he and the girl in his lap were distraught. While he was a patient man, generally speaking, even he had his limits.

"Since you're supposedly such a skilled caregiver, I'd have thought you would have corrected this behavior by now." The doctor shut the door behind Scott and herself. The words were obviously a dig at Edward's lack of experience, but he wasn't about to fall for such a low jab.

"She was fine until you showed up." He wrapped his arms firmly around Wisp's little body. She shook in his grasp, fighting to keep close to him, and his anger at Dr. Lawton nearly boiled over. It wasn't right—it just wasn't fair. How was she ever going to get better if the people meant to help her kept scaring her? At least the doctor at West Highland had been accommodating once Edward explained the problem. He suspected that, in a similar situation, Dr. Lawton would not have agreed to let Wisp go no matter what he said. "Hey, little Wisp, you're fine. It's okay. You live with me now—your Edward, remember? She won't take you away again." He couldn't help raising his voice to a volume he knew the psychiatrist could hear. Childish, yes. But it made him feel better, regardless of whether Wisp actually understood anything beyond his name.

Wisp's forehead pushed against his neck, hard and insistent. Edward held her as tight as he dared, mindful of her delicate body, as thick tears squeezed from her eyes onto his skin. More than anything, he wanted to reassure her. He wanted to tell her that everything was okay, that Scott and the psychiatrist wouldn't take her away again, but this wasn't something he could communicate with her limited vocabulary. Neither was he at all sure that she was even paying attention to anything except keeping her body wrapped as tightly around his as possible.

"I hate to say it," Scott said quietly, shifting from foot to foot, "but this does actually look like a step backward, Edward."

"She was _fine_," Edward insisted. Fuck it; they didn't need to know that the day wasn't actually going so well. "You've seen video—she's happy here, and she's doing really well. She's upset because she's not stupid. She knows you took her away the first time, and she doesn't want it to happen again."

"You can't possibly know that from hearing her cry," Dr. Lawton objected. "Making assumptions isn't in anybody's best interests, Mr. Cullen."

Edward grit his teeth. Going off on the psychiatrist in front of Wisp's social worker would _not_ be a good idea, no matter how much he wanted to. Wisp was still crying into his shirt, hot, panting breaths exhaled against his shoulder, and he raised one hand to cradle the back of her head, holding her to him. "It's okay," he murmured, turning his head to speak the words softly into her ear. "It's okay. I know you're afraid, and you have every right to be. Just relax, sweetheart. I won't let them touch you."

A corner of the living room had been designated as Wisp's art area, her sawn-off easel sitting in pride of place in the middle of a drop cloth. She was actually a very neat and conscientious artist when Garrett wasn't around, rarely spilling or dripping anything, and once she was shown how to care for her tools she delighted in the ritual of cleaning her brushes and other supplies after using them.

Several of her paintings and drawings were tacked on the wall in her corner, and Scott crossed the room to inspect them. "She really did this?" he asked, motioning to her first painting, the one of Peter Pan from her book. "You sent me photos, but it's different in person."

"She's incredibly talented," Edward said proudly, rubbing his hand slowly up and down Wisp's thin, shuddering back. "Even the local police sketch artist was amazed at what she can do." Anyone ought to be. Edward had no way of knowing what sort of instruction, if any, she might have been exposed to at some point in her past, but her work was amazing. Depth, shadow, subtleties of hue—she drew and painted the world with exacting detail. It was one of the things that told Edward plainly that she was incredibly smart, despite her struggles. No one without a keen mind could observe the world as closely as she did.

"Savantism, possibly." Dr. Lawton glanced over Wisp's art without stepping closer to study it the way Scott did. "Mimicry is a common symptom."

"She's not just mimicking." Edward knew the doctor was baiting him, but he really couldn't care. His head was beginning to hurt, and Wisp's keening cries so close to his ear weren't helping. Whether reasonable or not, he felt certain that she wouldn't have had such a negative reaction to Scott if he had come alone. "She draws plenty of other things, too. You can't just come in here and throw diagnoses around—not this time." Last time, there'd really been nothing Edward could do. Dr. Lawton was a representative of the state, and she had the right to place Wisp where she saw fit. But now Scott was in charge, and while that didn't seem to be going so well at the moment, at least the psychiatrist couldn't arbitrarily remove Wisp without his consent.

Dr. Lawton levered a long, disapproving look at Edward. "You're in denial about the severity of her condition, Mr. Cullen, and that won't help her or anyone else. Tell me, does she speak? I mean, really speak, in clear, intelligible sentences? Have medical doctors proven a physical disability that prevents her from walking, or does she just choose not to? She can't even handle two people coming through the front door without throwing a tantrum. Can you sit there and tell me you think she can handle the everyday world like a normal, fully-functioning human being does?"

Edward remained silent. Mostly because he didn't want Wisp learning the words that wanted to burst from his mouth.

"No? Then I think you will agree with me—or, rather, anyone with the academic background to comprehend would agree with me—that this girl is woefully developmentally impaired. She may be a savant. She may simply be mentally retarded or disabled in some other way. Pretending that she is capable of living a normal life is denial, Mr. Cullen."

"I don't believe that she's capable of independence right now," Edward said slowly, speaking through his teeth. He couldn't manage to make his voice sound calm or pleasant, but he was at least able to keep it level. "No idiot would claim that. I'm saying that, whatever difficulties she has, they're a failure of her past environment, not her genetics."

"Environment can cause mental illness just as much as anything else." Dr. Lawton perched on the edge of a chair without being asked, laying her briefcase in her lap and tapping the brown leather with her sharp nails. It was just another small annoyance that added to Edward's overall bad mood.

"But not savantism. That's not caused by environmental factors, and you know it." Edward tightened his arms around Wisp's small body. Really, he wanted to slap the superior smirk off Dr. Lawton's made-up face, but he stopped himself. He was better than that and, besides, it would terrify the girl in his arms if he raised his hand to someone, even the doctor she was scared of. At this point, he had no idea what a further rush of fear might do to her.

The girl in question shuddered against him, sucking in a ragged breath. Her muscles, already abused after a night clenched in fear, trembled and shook. He could only imagine what her throat felt like. Her breath rattled as she struggled to inhale again.

Dr. Lawton, Edward decided, could wait. Whatever she wanted to do, whatever plan she had, she was going to have to wait. Calming Wisp was far more important.

"Little Wisp," he murmured, his voice dropping to the soft croon that only appeared for her. "Little Wisp, it's okay. I know you're afraid, and you have every right to be. But it's not going to happen again, honey. I promise." And he'd do everything in his power to keep that promise. "Hey, do you remember when we came back from seeing Dr. Jasper? I taught you a new word—home. This is your home, and no one can take that away from you. Home, little Wisp. Home."

A rough hiccup interrupted the ragged rhythm of her cries. Edward continued to hold her, cupping her head in one hand, letting her sink into him as her muscles gave out. She just wasn't strong enough to cling to him so tightly anymore.

"Home." He spoke into her dark hair. "Home, little Wisp. You're okay. Home."

Her cries devolved into quivering whimpers, and after a few minutes ceased completely. Edward exhaled a deep breath. Finally. Finally Dr. Lawton had shut up so he could focus on the girl in his arms.

"Hi," he said, tipping her chin up with a crooked finger. Big brown eyes blinked at him, and for once he knew for sure what her pleading expression meant. She knew who Scott and Dr. Lawton were. She remembered them, and she didn't want to be taken away again. "How are you doing?" He rubbed his thumb softly against her wet cheek, wishing he could kiss her forehead or nuzzle her nose, but he didn't quite dare. Not in front of Scott and _especially_ not in front of Dr. Lawton. "Little Wisp, I know you're unhappy, but I need you to work with me here, okay?"

Silence. She did not talk the day after a nightmare, and today was no exception. Her face was red, her breaths uneven as she struggled to regain oxygen.

"Home." Whether she had any grasp of the intangible concept, Edward didn't know. She understood the physical, though—the little cabin in the woods where she lived with him and her kitten. Hopefully that was enough.

"Does she do this often?" Scott's voice filtered through to Edward's mind, and he grimaced internally. Why, of all days, did they have to do this today?

"Do what? Cry?" He shrugged his shoulder and let Wisp settle back against his chest. He'd like to shift her so she wasn't straddling him anymore, but he doubted she would react well at the moment. "You've read the progress reports I filled out. She cries when she's scared, because she doesn't know any other way to express the emotion." His head really felt awful—like the inside was too big for his skull, pressing, pressing outward. "Despite what anyone might think—" He leveled a glance just short of the stinkeye at Dr. Lawton. "—she's not dumb. She remembers you, and she's afraid."

"She has nothing substantial to be afraid of," Dr. Lawton said dismissively. "We didn't harm her the first time, nor will we. What do you take us for? It's our job to help people."

"You can help her," Edward grit out, "by giving her a little credit." Wisp wasn't stupid; he knew it. "How would you feel if you were alone in the world, lost and confused, and then someone came and took you from the only safe place you knew? I'd be pretty scared if I saw that person again. Wouldn't you?"

Scott had the decency to nod. Dr. Lawton only tightened her mouth, her lips narrowing to nearly nothing.

"Did you get copies of her medical file?" Edward asked Scott, attempting to ignore the doctor completely. Whatever she wanted, the answer was no. She wasn't supposed to be here, so he felt no real guilt ignoring her. "I asked Dr. Whitlock to send it over to you."

"I did," Scott confirmed. He settled himself on the other end of the couch, not coming too close. Edward liked that. At least someone had a healthy respect for Wisp's boundaries. "I spoke with him at length, too. Her bloodwork is a little better than it was when you first found her, but I'm concerned about her weight gain. The lack thereof, actually."

Yes, Edward was too, to be honest. As per Jasper's suggestion, he'd purchased a digital scale and weighed Wisp every week, just as they had in the doctor's office. She'd gained somewhere between six and seven pounds since she'd been found, which...wasn't a lot, considering. Jasper wasn't terribly concerned—he said to give her time—but, to Edward, everything circled back to the question of whether she would be taken away from him again or not. He kept detailed logs of when and what she ate, including any possible allergic reactions (none) and foods she didn't like (so far, vinegar, pickles, and raw onion), so Scott couldn't say she wasn't getting proper nutrition. She loved food, and mealtimes were still her favorite part of the day. Jasper wasn't worried, but Edward couldn't help himself. Maybe it was a stupid fear; he couldn't say. Any chance that Wisp might be taken away, no matter how slight, kept him up at night.

"You have her nutrition logs; she gets plenty of food. Jasper thinks it may be nothing but a high metabolism. He says we should start her on physical therapy soon and see if building muscle helps."

"Yes, don't they say muscle weighs more than fat? Not that she has much of either." Scott rubbed his chin. "I'd like to talk to Dr. Whitlock again, just to be on the safe side. Do you happen to remember what he thinks a healthy weight for a girl her age and size would be?"

"Somewhere between one hundred and one-twenty," Edward said, "although he'd prefer her to be on the upper end of that spectrum if at all possible."

Wisp shifted in his arms, burrowing softly into his chest as her body slowly relaxed. She regarded Scott with a wariness borne of doubt, and Edward didn't have it in him to rebuke her. As far as she knew, both the social worker and psychiatrist were equally responsible for her horrific ordeal in the psychiatric hospital. He supposed it was ridiculous, really, to have hoped for a perfect home visit today. Wisp wasn't stupid. She knew these two had taken her before and, even had she slept through the night without a qualm, she would still have acted out the moment she saw them.

"So..." Scott rubbed his palms on his slacks, a nervous gesture that made Dr. Lawton give him a disgusted look. "You mentioned you'd got her a kitten?"

"Yeah." Edward looked around, but there was no scruffy little ball of black fur to be seen. She was probably causing trouble upstairs. "It's amazing—did you see the video I sent? The one of Wisp putting the kitten to bed? I'll admit that I don't really know much about animal therapy, but she really responds to her. There's definitely a bond."

"And you haven't observed anything detrimental to her health or well-being? Allergies? Bad bites or scratches?"

"No." Edward had agonized over the decision before finally only giving Scott a highly-edited version of the litterbox incident. No reason to give him unnecessary ammunition; Wisp was fine now, and she'd be devastated if someone took Pet away from her.

"This is exactly the sort of thing I'm here to discuss," Dr. Lawton broke in. Inwardly, Edward steeled himself. He really shouldn't have expected her to stay quiet for long. "You admit freely that you have no experience with animal or art therapy, yet you throw these things at her as if they'll magically cure her."

Edward laughed.

He couldn't help it. This was becoming ridiculous—a farce of an interaction, three adults engaging in a power struggle when really they should be discussing how best to help a damaged girl. "You think that's the reason I gave her a pet? Paint? As a tool to somehow fix her?" He snorted. "Is that why we give gifts? Because they should somehow improve the receiver? I give Wisp things she needs, but I also give her things I think she might enjoy. Not to cure anything, but to make her smile." That smile absolutely killed him every time he saw it. It hurt to know that she might have had extremely limited reasons to use it earlier in her life.

"Mr. Williams, it's clear that, however well-meaning Mr. Cullen is, he is not educated or trained in the sort of care such a disabled girl obviously needs." She rose and stood before them, using the extra height as an intimidation factor. "You've heard my suggestion to remedy this situation."

"I haven't," Edward said tightly. "Mind clueing me in?" His hands tightened on the warm body cuddled into his lap. No. No, she wasn't going to intimidate them into removing Wisp. Not this time.

"Mr. Cullen, you yourself admit that you don't know what you're doing with this girl. This is _such_ a rare opportunity for study; even you must see that. I've presented a grant proposal to NIMH for federal funding, to keep her in a secure facility and document therapeutic techniques used in her rehabilitation. With any luck, the funding could last years."

That was it. Edward had tried to play nice, but he couldn't listen to this anymore. This was just the sort of thing he'd refused to do himself—use her for the sake of research. Carlisle didn't work in the social sciences so he didn't understand, but this woman was a psychiatrist. She ought to know better. "And then what?" His voice was louder and harder than he intended, and Wisp pressed close to his chest with a little whimper. "What will happen to her in two years, or three, when your funding runs out? You'll abandon her, and there's no guarantee she'll be any better off than she is now."

"That," Dr. Lawton said with an icy stare, "is what facilities like West Highland are for."

"No." Edward hugged Wisp close to his chest, not wincing even when she dug her sharp little chin into his shoulder. "You forget, _Dr._ Lawton, I'm a sociologist with a doctorate. I'm in research, but I have no intention of ever using Wisp as a meal ticket. She's a _person_! How can you stand there and talk about her like some lab rat?"

"There's no need for rudeness." The doctor's voice was calm. "In every science, even social science, well-meaning amateurs have caused disastrous results. Take archaeology. The famous Heinrich Schliemann, discoverer of Troy, smashed through layers and layers of civilization built on top of each other, desperate to find Homer's legendary city. He ruined what could have been a priceless archaeological find because of amateur zeal." She stared at Edward significantly.

"Wisp is not a lost city, and I am not a treasure-hunter." Edward suppressed a shiver as the girl's nose brushed his skin. "Your metaphor doesn't make sense. You're right that I'm not a therapist or a psychologist, but what you don't seem to understand is that I'm not trying to be. All I want is what's best for her, and forgive me, but I don't believe you're it. You don't care about her as a person, a human being. You don't give a fuck what happens to her, as long as you get to study it and then get publishing credit."

"You, Mr. Cullen, are sadly mistaken if you think permitting Jane Doe to remain here is in her best interests. You can't even admit that you want to keep her for your own sake, not hers." Dr. Lawton's look was almost pitying. "I don't know exactly why you're so adamant about keeping her. Certainly I would hate to accuse someone of less than altruistic motives…"

Which she was doing, by even hinting at it. Edward's jaw clenched tightly, teeth grating. This was the accusation he'd been afraid of—the suggestion that he used or wanted to use Wisp for sexual gratification. Well, he didn't. He never would. _You're not a predator_. Rose's words flickered in his memory. No, he wasn't a predator, and if Rosalie—herself a survivor of a predator—said it…well, it had to be true. Wisp…she wasn't a child, but she wasn't a consenting adult, either.

"Doctor," Scott said softly, "I don't think Edward's motives are prurient in any way. I've spoken with several other people involved in her daily life here, and they have nothing but good things to say. We're not here to question why Edward is concerned for her, but whether placement elsewhere, as you've suggested, is more appropriate."

"I think his motives _are_ part of the question," Dr. Lawton snapped. Scott visibly shrank from her. So much for his sudden burst of assertiveness. "He's refused the state's foster care stipend, so there's no monetary gain. He just claimed he has no intention of observing her for research purposes, so career advancement can't be a factor either. If sex is also off the table, there's no clear incentive."

"Incentive?" Edward laughed. "You want an incentive? What about altruism? Or is that emotion too difficult for science to categorize and analyze?"

"Mr. Cullen, if you'd seen even half of what I've encountered in my tenure as a psychiatrist with Child Protective Services, you'd know that altruism doesn't exist. Not in the real world."

Suddenly, despite his anger, Edward felt immensely sorry for this woman. Not because of her difficult job, which, after all, she'd chosen. Nobody forced her into it. Rather, he felt sorry for what she'd let that job do to her, ignoring the warning signs of burnout until she was this—hollow, drained, starving for recognition in a field that favored research over front-line work, unable to comprehend that sometimes people really were capable of compassion. "You want to know why I want her to stay here?" He rubbed Wisp's sharp shoulder blade through the soft fabric of her shirt. "I get that the state needs to know how healthy she is and I understand why I have to document every little thing for Scott, but fuck, if all of the paperwork went away it wouldn't change how I treat her. When she smiles at me it's like...like that first really warm, sunny spring day. It's cheesy—whatever. It's how I feel. You can't imagine—none of us can—exactly what she's been through, and my goal is to make sure she never has to experience the hell of her past life ever, ever again. You can call me a bad caregiver if you want, because I'm not a licensed art therapist or whatever, but I care about her. I care so damn much, and I'm convinced that she needs that more than she needs anything else right now."

Edward leaned back heavily against the couch cushions. He didn't know how either Scott or Dr. Lawton would react to his statement, but he did know that it was the truth. Wisp belonged with him right now. He didn't think he could stand sleeping without her curled on his chest unless he knew, really knew, that she was okay. More than okay—that she was happy, and content, and everything she seemed to be here. Until that time, he'd do whatever he could to keep her.

"You're far too emotionally invested in this Jane Doe, Mr. Cullen," Dr. Lawton objected.

"Would you quit calling her that?" He'd tried to ignore it, but he'd had enough. "She's not some unknown entity, she's sitting right here in front of you. She's not a Jane Doe. Her name is Wisp until we find out otherwise."

"For someone so concerned about treating her like a human being, you're very quick to give her a nonsensical name like a dog or a cat."

"It's nontraditional, but it's not nonsensical. She's a tiny thing—a little wisp of a girl." Edward bristled. Of all the things the psychiatrist might object to, he hadn't guessed Wisp's name would be one of them.

The doctor stepped closer to the couch. "Does she even know that name? Respond to it?"

Wisp flinched away as Dr. Lawton drew near. She still straddled his waist, but her head was turned to the side and she watched the doctor with deep suspicion. Edward tightened his arms again, hoping it gave her comfort. A low whimper quivered in her throat, dark eyes following the psychiatrist's movements.

"Wisp." When Dr. Lawton spoke the name, it sounded like a command. "Wisp."

Wisp didn't respond. Her body didn't shift, her gaze still locked on the last thing the doctor had moved—her arm.

"She shows absolutely no recognition. She won't even look me in the eye." Lawton stepped forward again and reached out, catching Wisp's chin and tilting it toward her. "Look at me."

It happened so fast that Edward couldn't have prevented it, even if he wanted to. Wisp jerked her chin out of the doctor's light grip, opened her mouth, and soundly bit her outstretched fingers.

"Ouch!" Dr. Lawton jerked her hand out of the girl's mouth just as Edward couldn't hold in his laughter anymore. That was better than anything he could possibly have dreamed up. Wisp had never bitten anyone before, to his knowledge, and he felt an unreasonable amount of glee that Dr. Lawton was the first. He laughed hard, a good, deep belly laugh—something he hadn't done in far too long—and it felt really, really good. Yes, his head still hurt like a motherfucker. Yes, Dr. Lawton's unwelcome self was still in his house. But Wisp had made her feelings known very clearly—clearer, even, than she could have spoken them.

"She doesn't like you," he managed to wheeze out through his laughter. "Good girl, Wisp. You keep reminding me that there's more than one way to speak your mind."

Scott wasn't doing a very good job of holding back a grin of his own. "Considering the circumstances, Doctor, I'm not thinking transferring her into your care is advisable. Dr. Cullen has built up a relationship of trust and affection with the girl, and it's clear she's unwilling at this point to cultivate such a relationship with you."

"That girl needs a professional," Dr. Lawton insisted, examining the little tooth-shaped indentations in her index and middle fingers. Wisp hadn't drawn blood, so Edward wasn't terribly inclined to pity her.

"I'm not averse to a mental health professional coming to see her," Edward told Scott. The man was nearly useless when faced with Dr. Lawton, but he was still the authority in this case. "We've held off—Dr. Whitlock and myself—because neither of us really knows how therapy would work, considering her limited vocabulary. But it _won't_ be you, Dr. Lawton. I'm not a specialist, but I know there's no point in attempting any sort of therapy without trust. Wisp doesn't trust you, and neither do I."

"I think a professional would be an excellent idea." Scott's face showed intense relief, though he studiously avoided looking at Dr. Lawton. "I'll send you a list you can pick and choose from when I get back to the office."

Yes, Edward was going to be very, very picky about adding people to Wisp's life. If she didn't respond well to someone, they were gone. Therapist, counselor, psychologist—he didn't really know the difference between any of them, but he didn't care about the title. All he cared about was making sure Wisp was comfortable with them.

"I'm still applying for funding," Dr. Lawton said tightly. "If the grant application is accepted, this goes federal, Mr. Cullen. You won't be able to hide her away here."

Was that accurate? Edward didn't know, but at the moment he didn't care, either. He was tired, his head hurt, and the psychiatrist was upsetting his Wisp. It was time for her to leave. Besides, what percentage of grant applications to NIMH were actually funded? He didn't know, but he suspected the number wasn't high. The doctor might still be a threat in the future, but he doubted it.

After a failed, stilted attempt at conversation, Scott stood as well. "I'll call within the week to schedule another home visit," he said.

Wisp shifted in Edward's arms, craning her neck to regard the social worker. She inhaled slowly, then blew out a soft breath. Her red cheeks had calmed to their natural delicate paleness, and she blinked her dark eyelashes. Another inhale. On the exhale she whispered, "Home?"

Scott froze.

Edward froze.

Dr. Lawton frowned.

"Yes," Scott answered after a moment, a little uncertain. "You do know where your home is, don't you? You don't have to worry. As long as it's a good home, I won't take you away from it."

"Good home." Her voice was rough from crying, barely a murmur. "Good Edward."

Edward swore he'd never been prouder of her.

"He must be, since you like him an awful lot. Something tells me that's not the case with just anyone."

Federal funding be damned, Edward thought. She knew where she belonged, and he wasn't going to let anyone fuck that up.

* * *

_A/N: A huge thanks to my Twitter peeps for keeping me sane over the past couple of weeks! Special hugs to LyricalKris and Bob (hev99) for general sweetness and support, darkNnerdy for straight-talkin' awesomeness, and Ooza, abadkitty, and CallMePagliacci for always making me laugh when they squabble._

_Fic rec! Nobody's Little Girl by _**HelloElla**_. I've been addicted to this fic almost from the beginning! If you like my Wisp, you'll like Ella's Kid, I promise!_

_NIMH: National Institute of Mental Health. And yes, this is the same NIMH from "The Secret of NIMH."_


	27. Chapter 27

_A/N: I know, I know, I'm a day late. Trust me, it's better this way. My editing mojo died last night, but it's back now. Woot!_ _A quick note, there won't be an update next week: I need to make sure I can get my futuretake for Fandom For Suicide Awareness finished in time to meet the deadline! If you want a peek into Wisp's future (inspired by LyricalKris!), donate to Fandom For Suicide Awareness/To Write Love on Her Arms. Information available here: fandom4suicideawareness dot blogspot dot com_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

When the door finally closed behind the psychiatrist and social worker, Edward released a huge breath and hugged Wisp to him tightly. "Good girl," he told her, catching her cheeks in his hands and kissing her forehead. "_Such_ a good girl! You told both of them exactly how you felt. I'm so proud of you, pretty girl."

"Bad?" Her face drew up in a worried pout, and she bit deliberately at the air, miming the chomp she'd given Dr. Lawton.

"Considering the circumstances, I'm going to say no." It wasn't a very good idea to encourage biting, but Edward really couldn't help it. She didn't have the vocabulary to tell someone off when they deserved it. This seemed to be a more than reasonable substitute. Lawton had touched her—had got in her face, even. Edward could still hear the demanding way she ordered Wisp to look her in the eye. No one would want to obey an order given in that tone. He sure as hell wouldn't. Wisp had every right to try to defend herself.

He did wonder whether this was a behavior she'd picked up from Pet, who had bitten both of them at various times, or whether it was an instinctive defense. Regardless, he was proud that she'd been willing to defend herself. The scared little girl he'd coaxed out from behind the couch over two months ago definitely wouldn't have done so. Dr. Lawton might not like it, but this was progress.

"Good Wisp," he told her, emphasizing the words while looking deep into her dark eyes. Manners could come later; right now he was happy that she'd taken some initiative.

Wisp's lovely face brightened, and she offered him a hesitant smile. Edward grinned back, rubbing the soft material of her shirt with his thumbs. "You're such a good girl. Don't let anyone tell you different, okay?" He didn't know for sure, but he suspected she'd heard the opposite far too many times. So maybe she needed to learn some boundaries in regard to his personal space. It didn't make her bad. Certainly showing Dr. Lawton her own boundaries was entirely acceptable.

The sharp caution she'd held in her eyes throughout the entire encounter with Lawton and Williams slowly ebbed, replaced with the gentle shine Edward had grown to know well. She inhaled a deep breath and held it for a long moment before blowing a soft gust of air into his shoulder. Her body relaxed, fists releasing their death grip on his shirt, and she nuzzled her little nose against his jaw before brushing her lips against the same spot. Her kisses were getting better—much more like kisses. Edward told himself it was all the practice she got snuggling with her kitten.

"So, Rosalie wanted to know when the visit was over. I don't know about you, but I could use some lunch." And some painkillers. And a nap, though he doubted that was happening. Just because she'd spoken on a nightmare day didn't mean she would sleep. Or let him out of her sight. Not that he minded. Right now, even though he was sore and tired, all he wanted to do was make her smile. She'd cried far too much today.

Luckily his phone was in his pocket, and it only took a quick text to Rosalie to inform her that they were ready for her whenever she was.

"Okay." Edward looked at the girl in his lap. "I don't know about you, but I really need to stretch my legs. I've been sitting here for quite a while, and I'm all cramped up."

She said nothing, merely tightened her arms and legs so she could cling to him as he rose. Edward groaned as he shook out his legs. She had a sharp little tailbone or whatever—he'd felt it digging into his thighs and it was starting to hurt when she sat in one position on him for too long.

"Am I supposed to wear you like this all day?" The words were light—teasing. Wisp cocked her head quizzically at him, the gentle shine still visible in her dark eyes even as dried tears streaked her pale cheeks. "You know I don't mind holding you—by now, I think that's obvious. I like making you feel safe and comfortable, and it seems like this is one way I can do that. But I don't...I guess it just worries me a little, you know? That you don't want to be anywhere else when you're tired or scared or confused. Rose says I'm an idiot for worrying and Jasper says there's no point in tackling this step while there's so much else we have to work on. Maybe when we find a good therapist we can talk to her—or him, I guess—about it. Looks like that's something we'll be seeing about sooner rather than later."

A meow far too loud for the tiny kitten it came from reached Edward's ears, and Pet poked her fuzzy black head around the kitchen doorway.

"There you are. I was wondering." Edward turned so Wisp didn't have to crane her neck to see the little cat, and he watched a smile spread across her face. Every time that little black scrap of fur unrolled the toilet paper or scratched up bits of carpet or knocked something onto the floor, he had to remind himself of the blinding smile Wisp wore whenever she saw her kitten. She loved Pet with a fierce, protective emotion—one that warmed his heart whenever he saw it. He didn't know anything about animal therapy, just as Dr. Lawton had claimed, but he knew enough to understand what the cat meant to the girl in his care.

"Pet," she whispered, just as Edward's phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Can I put you down?"Edward moved cautiously, leaning forward in an attempt to set her on her cushion.. "I know you get scared after a nightmare, but today's kind of been crazy all around. I'd really like it if you could sit by yourself for a minute." The text was probably from Rosalie, and he also had to piss.

Wisp's legs tightened around him and her eyes went wide, her lower lip disappearing into her mouth. Yeah, he hadn't figured this would work so well, but he wanted to try. He was about to straighten with her in his arms but Pet meowed again, slinking cautiously into the room, checking to make sure the strangers were gone. Wisp bit harder on her lip, turning the pink flesh white, and glanced from Pet to Edward and back again with a crease of indecision between her eyebrows.

"Go on," Edward urged, lowering her closer to the floor. "I won't leave you; you know that. Go see your cat."

Pet had grown from the palmful of black fur Alice brought home, though not much. She was still scruffy, her fur sticking out in strange directions despite being a shorthaired cat, but she was slowly growing into her huge ears. Wisp unwound her legs from Edward's waist—he heard one of her knees pop as it straightened, and he winced in sympathy. He was feeling tense and achy himself, and _he_ hadn't spent the night locked inside a nightmare that gripped his muscles in a vise and would not let go. Some Tylenol might not be a bad idea, but she gave him such a mournful look when he presented the little purple tablets that he tried not to dose her unless he had to.

She let him put her down, releasing the tight fists in his shirt, her worried brown eyes meeting his with the pleading, beseeching expression she so often wore. "Good Edward." The words were soft, but hopeful.

"I'm here with you. I know you still get scared, but I'm not going anywhere and neither are you." Edward kissed the top of her head before straightening. Oh, god, it felt good to stand on his own! He put his hands to his lower back and leaned backward, working out some of the kinks in his body. Wisp might weigh less than a hundred pounds, but that was still ninety-something more pounds than his body was meant to carry all the time.

Wisp slid onto her knees and reached for her kitten, and Pet trotted happily over to be picked up and cuddled. She rubbed her furry face against Wisp's cheek, and the girl giggled as the loud bumblebee buzz of Pet's purr began.

"Okay, you go to town with the snuggling." He fished in his pocket for his phone, walking slowly around the room to work the kinks out of his legs. Wisp watched him warily even as she cuddled her kitten, but Edward wasn't planning on leaving the room. Not while she was so wary and there was no one else here to distract her.

The text, when he checked, was from Rosalie. She said she was leaving the shop for the afternoon and would be at his place soon. Edward told himself firmly that wishing for a nap was still out of the question, even though Wisp was sitting on the floor rather than his lap and had actually spoken a handful of words. Expecting her to magically be her normal, sweet, happy self after the night—and morning—she'd had was ridiculous.

Watching her cuddle her kitten, Edward had to wonder about Dr. Lawton's threat to take Wisp away for research purposes. His rational self told him that the likelihood of success was small. NIMH, like any government agency, only funded a tiny percentage of all the grant proposals they received. Just getting past that first hurdle would be ridiculously difficult, and after that she had the state of Washington to contend with. Edward wasn't sure, but he doubted her claim that a federal grant would automatically preempt the state's decision to house Wisp with him. Ultimately Scott—for better or for worse—had the final say unless Edward wanted to somehow take the issue before a judge.

So he tried to soothe himself with knowledge, facts—his go-to whenever doubts and questions plagued him. Though he was a social scientist—a fuzzy scientist, Jasper always said, a touchy-feely scientist—he was still an academic. Facts, findings, precedents; these were the things that he clung to when he needed guidance. Research proposals were many and funding dollars were few. Scott was in charge, not Dr. Lawton. If necessary, he could always look into hiring a lawyer to help him sort out his options, he supposed. Because, no matter what, he was determined to keep Wisp out of Dr. Lawton's reach. What he'd said from the beginning still stood: he wanted what was best for her, and right now he believed that was staying with him. If someone showed him an alternative that would serve her better, while he would miss her, he wouldn't fight a move—but he was positive that Dr. Lawton's proposal would effectively ruin whatever hope for a better future Wisp might have. They would care for her physical needs in an institution, and they might even try therapies that could potentially help her. But they wouldn't give her what she seemed to need and want the most right now—affection. The doctors and orderlies would not hold her when she cried. They wouldn't indulge her fear of furniture, or let her keep the cat she was so attached to. Her therapy, whatever she got, would be meted out in timed sessions depending on whatever the state was willing to pay and, otherwise, she would be on her own. Edward couldn't make himself believe that was a better option than the constant companionship and attention she received here, with him, Rosalie, and the others. What good was therapy when the environment didn't foster trust and peace?

Really, if he was honest with himself, Edward was more irritated with Scott than Dr. Lawton at the moment. She was a bitter, disappointed woman who could not recognize compassion when she saw it, and he _knew_ her job played a huge part in that. She needed to take a long sabbatical, or look into a different line of work. When she started frightening the patients she was trying to help, it was time for a break. Edward understood, and for that reason he couldn't loathe her too badly even though he knew she was wrong.

Scott, though...he needed to be able to trust Scott, to build a professional relationship with the man, and he couldn't do that if things like this kept happening. Scott should have told him. He damn well should have at _least_ told him that she was coming, though a better option would have been to tell her no in the first place. That apologetic look Scott had shot him at the door told Edward Dr. Lawton's presence wasn't his idea, but the guy had to learn to stand up to people. What would happen when he got into an inevitable confrontation with a pissed-off family member of one of his clients? The first time he had to deal with someone who was drunk or high, or had an anger problem? If he really wanted to be a social worker, he needed to man the fuck up and start asserting himself. Maybe he needed to take some lessons from Rosalie.

On second thought, no. Rose would scare the shit out of him.

"We need to do something about that social worker of yours," he told Wisp. Pet was on her back, her little toes curled, and Wisp was stroking her furry belly. It wasn't always the safest thing to do—more than once Pet had play-attacked a hand on her belly, wrapping her forepaws around it and kicking with her hindpaws. But trying to tell Wisp not to pet her cat was useless, so he bit back the warning. "He means well. I really do believe he means well. We just...shit, that woman makes me crazy. I shouldn't say this, but I am _so_ glad that you bit her."

Wisp giggled, something else she normally did not do the day after a nightmare. Edward had to wonder if maybe the confrontation with Lawton and Williams had pushed the nightmare...maybe not completely from her mind, but far enough back that she was able to function better. Whatever the reason, he was glad to hear that little laugh. Pet was wonderful at teasing it out of her.

Rose pushed the front door open a few minutes later, not even bothering to knock. Edward was used to it by now—had given up harping on his friends and family to knock. During the day he kept the door unlocked because it was impossible to know when Wisp might be in his lap and not inclined to move, and Emmett and Jasper had keys that Rosalie was perfectly able and willing to swipe if she wanted in at any other time.

He was also used to the smile that lit Wisp's face when she saw her blond babysitter, and the only thing that curbed an uncomfortable prick of jealousy was that Wisp smiled at him like that, too, when he returned to her. Maybe even brighter; it was hard to tell. Certainly she didn't smile like that at anyone else.

"Rose!" Wisp held out her arms, and Rosalie dropped to her knees deftly to give her a squeeze.

"Hey there, babycakes. What's new?" She brushed Wisp's hair away from her face with a gentle hand, studying the girl closely. "You're talking after a nightmare. Dare I ask what brought this on?"

Rose had a brown paper bag with her, but no wide, flat box wafting mouthwatering smells his way. Edward frowned. She'd promised to bring pizza, and pizza did not arrive in brown paper bags. Not to his knowledge, anyway.

"No," Edward said, dropping back on the couch. "Don't ask."

Sharp blue eyes glanced at him for a moment before Rose returned her attention to Wisp. "I thought shaking up your routine a little might not be such a bad idea. Get you out of your head, thinking about something other than your nightmares. So, we're going to try something new today."

Edward wasn't so sure this was a good idea. She'd already had a stressful day on top of a stressful night. New things were always potentially upsetting—was that really the best thing to be doing today? He'd pretty much counted on spending a quiet afternoon on the couch, maybe reading aloud to Wisp or nodding off for a few minutes of sleep while Rose did.

On the other hand, arguing with Rosalie was probably far worse than potentially upsetting Wisp with something new, so Edward watched with silent misgivings as Rose reached into her bag and pulled out...a swimsuit?

Yes, that was definitely a girl's one-piece swimsuit—nothing special, just a run-of-the-mill, plain navy blue. Rose held it up so Wisp could see.

"I want you to put this on, okay? Then I have a surprise for you."

Wisp was learning little by little how to dress herself, but she looked at the little piece of stretchy blue material with a blank expression and did not attempt to put it on.

Rose laughed. "Yes, I guess it might be confusing if you've never used one before, huh? Let's see what we can do."

The girl allowed Rosalie to peel off her pants and underwear, exposing milk-pale legs free from the bruising that had marred her skin for so long. Her knees were still red and puffy, though not as bad as before. In another month, Jasper said, they'd give her a second cortisone injection and talk about physical therapy.

Rose helped her ease her feet through the correct holes, then began working the swimsuit up her legs. "Go get yours, Cullen," she said without looking at him. "Pizza's being delivered to my place, and if we're not there in time they won't hang around."

Okay, that made a little more sense. He understood why Rose wanted Wisp in a swimsuit now, and he didn't argue as she finished dressing her, putting her regular clothes back over the stretchy suit. "I don't know how she's going to react when you try to take her out of the house."

Rosalie waved him toward the stairs. "I'll worry about that. You just get your shit."

Because he wanted lunch, and because he was intrigued by Rose's idea, Edward did.

"Okay, kiddo," Rose was saying when he came back down wearing swim trunks under a pair of baggy sweat pants, "we're going to go to my house for the afternoon. What do you think about that?"

Wisp ignored the words, pulling up her shirt to inspect the dull shine of the swimsuit and poke at the constricting material.

"How do you want to do this?" Edward asked.

Rose sent him one of her patented you-are-being-an-idiot-and-I-might-just-slap-you glares. "If we don't turn it into a big deal, then it won't be a big deal." She picked Wisp up, smiling at her wide brown eyes. "You get it, don't you? You get that Edward isn't sending you away. I think you're a tough girl."

Edward followed closely as they made their way out the door. Wisp whimpered, and her hands tightened on Rosalie's shoulders, knuckles whitening. Worried eyes met Edward's, and he smiled encouragingly at her over Rose's shoulder. "It's okay, little Wisp. It's just me and Rose; you're fine. We're going to do something I think you'll like."

He hoped so, anyway. Sometimes Wisp's reactions were entirely unpredictable, and she _had_ had a difficult morning.

She whimpered again but, unlike the last time Edward had carried her from the cabin, she did not burst into tears. Her hands were tight on Rose's shoulders, eyes big, face pale, but...no meltdown. Edward breathed a sigh of relief and opened the rear door of Rose's car, sliding in and holding his arms out. Rosalie transferred Wisp to him gently, and he cradled her against his chest. Thankfully she didn't seem to feel the need to wrap herself around him this time, but her soft eyes widened further as Rose shut the car door.

"It's okay." Edward brushed a hand through her long hair. "Good girl. We're going somewhere fun."

Rose slid into the driver's seat and started the car, glancing at Edward in the rearview mirror. "Hold tight, kiddo. We're on our way."

Emmett and Rosalie lived on the opposite side of town—not that that translated into much of a drive, considering the size of Forks. They'd bought a fixer-upper and really turned it into their own, everything from new siding to gutted interiors. Esme was in her element for over a year helping them plan projects room-by-room. The outside was now a cheerful blue with cream-colored trim, and as they pulled into the driveway Rose waved toward the house. "Here it is. My home. What do you think?"

Wisp's nose scrunched up into a puzzled pout as she stared through the windshield. "Home?"

"I think you're confusing her. The concept of your home versus her home might be a little hard to explain at the moment."

"Patience, huh?" Rosalie smiled over her shoulder at Wisp, then opened her door. Edward followed, carrying a very curious girl huddled in his arms. She trembled slightly, but she was in a new place and she wasn't crying. He counted that as progress.

Inside, the house was minimalist—modern. Wisp took everything in with wide eyes as they walked through the living room and the kitchen, then out the French doors to Emmett's pride and joy—his back deck, built with his own two hands.

Well, and Rosalie's.

The deck was huge, taking up a good half of what was once the back yard. Emmett had every right to be proud. This had nothing to do with Esme's skill or Rosalie's taste for clean lines and everything to do with two of Emmett's favorite activities—eating and relaxing. There was a huge stainless steel barbeque—a housewarming present from Emmett's parents—and an outdoor dining set, complete with a huge umbrella and a tall patio heater because, well, this _was_ the Olympic peninsula. Wooden loungers sat under an awning, ready to be dragged into what little sunshine could be had and, in pride of place under a pretty cedar pergola that kept out the rain, was the hot tub.

Wisp loved baths. Loved them maybe even more than mealtimes—it was a tossup. Food might edge out bathing simply because she could share her dinner with Pet, sneaking fingerfuls of gravy or bits of chicken to the cat, but Pet had absolutely no interest in joining bathtime. The one time Wisp had tried...well, let's just say it hadn't gone well. This was one area in which she and her kitten definitely differed. Pet, like any respectable cat, disdained baths, but Wisp would lounge blissfully in the tub until she was pruny and the water grew cold and even then she heaved a disappointed sigh when it was time to get out.

If she loved baths so much, Edward really hoped she'd like the hot tub. Her poor muscles could use a soak after a night spent locked tight as she strained against her nightmares.

Rose pulled the cover off the tub, and Wisp squealed when she saw steam rise off a far bigger and deeper pool of water than the bathtub she was used to. She stared at it for a long moment, then looked at Edward with wide, pleading eyes.

"Yeah, I thought you might like that." He smiled back, so relieved to see something other than fear on her face. It had been a terrible morning, but maybe the afternoon was salvageable.

"I want to see her reaction," Rose said, leaning against a post. "Then I'll go grab some towels and, with any luck, pizza."

Edward set Wisp on the wooden lip surrounding the tub so they could take her clothes off. This time she did help, eagerly kicking her pants down her legs as he maneuvered her out of her shirt. When she got to the swimsuit, she plucked uncertainly at one of the straps on her shoulders and gave Rose a cautious glance.

"You keep that on. It might be strange to you, but naked hot-tubbing wasn't quite what I was going for."

The swimsuit was a little big on Wisp—Rose had obviously guessed at her size—but it fit well enough. Edward slipped out of his own shirt and sweatpants, setting them aside before climbing the steps and easing himself into the hot water. "Come here, little Wisp," he urged, holding his hands out toward her. "You can come in now."

She swung her legs around and dipped a curious toe in the hot water. The jets were cycling, but Rose hadn't turned on the bubbles. Edward smiled as her foot sank further and further into the water, followed by the other one.

"Have you ever seen water this deep?" From the look on her face, he doubted she had. Immediately his mind began imagining what it would be like to take her to a river, a lake...the ocean.

Yes. Yes, he wanted Wisp to see the ocean. And not just the ocean here, where the beaches were rocky rather than sandy and only idiots swam because even in summer the water was too cold, but the sort of place where she could sit in warm sand and drink up the hot velvet feeling of sun sinking deep into her flesh, play in the shallows of the surf. Maybe it was ridiculous, but when she loved something he wanted to give her all of it, every bit he could. In this case, a bath, a hot tub, even a pool paled in comparison to what he really wanted her to have. After surviving a brutal childhood, didn't she deserve it? Didn't she deserve all the joy he could possibly give?

Wisp's cautious dip of her feet into the bubbling hot water made Edward think she might be hesitant to actually get in, but she looked down at the water, up at him, down at the water again, and before he could hold a hand out to urge her on, she pushed herself off the edge and into the tub.

Another squeal left her mouth, this one startled, as her foot slipped on the unseen edge of the bench under the water, and she lost her balance. She sat with a splash, feet slipping out from under her, one arm flailing as the other rose to cover her face.

Edward was at her side in an instant, his hands finding her shoulders, steadying her. She froze, her body still, as the slosh of water from her abrupt entrance calmed, and her eyes fluttered hesitantly open.

"Hey. I was going to help you in—are you okay? I bet you weren't quite prepared for that, huh?"

Wisp blinked, brushing drops of water from her cheeks with wet fingers, and flashed him the most adorably sheepish smile he'd ever seen. Whether it was from her sudden startle, the hot water, or an actual blush, Edward couldn't say, but her cheeks were rosy-warm. She sniffed at the air, no doubt scenting the sharp-clean smell of chlorine. "Bath?" The water bubbled about midway up her sternum and she swirled a hand through it with wonder.

"It's kind of like a bath. We're not really getting clean, though—just enjoying the water."

"Smile for me, kiddo." Rosalie held up her phone, snapping a quick picture of Wisp in the water. It was something she, Esme, Alice, and even Edward had done countless times, capturing a smile or a new experience in photo or video form, but this time Rosalie hesitated as she lowered her phone. "Ed, you take pictures of her, right?"

"Sometimes," Edward said cautiously, frowning at her. "Why?"

"Have you ever shown them to her afterward?"

No. No he hadn't, as a matter of fact. Wisp ignored the little black rectangles they all carried around with them, so he'd never really thought to offer.

"Don't sweat it; I didn't even think of it until now. Hey kiddo, I want you to see something."

Wisp was exploring the seat and floor of the hot tub with all four of her limbs, testing the depth of the water and the size of the little underwater bench that apparently did not count as furniture because she wasn't raising a fuss about sitting on it. She raised her head inquiringly when Rosalie's tone shifted and the tall woman moved to sit on the wooden rim surrounding the hot tub.

"Look, Wisp. What do you see?" Rose held out her phone and Wisp's brows drew together as she squinted at the photo.

A heartbeat passed. Edward found himself holding a breath. He had no idea what she'd think when she saw her picture for the first time.

She made no move to touch the phone, only staring with fierce attention at the digital photo in Rose's hand. Her teeth worked at her lower lip in that curious habit of hers. She looked at the phone, then down at the water, then at the phone again. Her hand reached up to touch her face, delicate fingers skimming against warm skin, hovering at the edge of her mouth.

Finally, she spoke. Her eyes flicked to Rosalie, and her teeth released her lip. "Wisp?" she asked, the one word full of uncertainty.

Rose smiled. Edward swore he'd seen more smiles from her in the past two months than in all the previous time they'd known each other. "Yeah, that's right. That's you. I know you've seen yourself in the mirror. You know what you look like." She took the phone back. "I'll show you how it works sometime, but right now I really have to—"

"Hey, would you look what I found at the door?"

Wisp's head jerked toward the booming voice before anyone else's, but she relaxed when she saw that it was only Emmett. She didn't want to be left alone with the giant police officer—wouldn't be left alone with anyone but Edward or Rosalie, in fact—but she didn't mind him.

Emmett sauntered over and placed a couple of pizza boxes on a little table near the hot tub. "You had to have planned this out, right? Perfect timing—I show up just in time to get stuck with the tab."

"How could I time anything when I didn't know you'd be here?" Rosalie snapped back. "What are you doing home in the middle of the day, anyway?"

"I got some files to look over—stuff from the last time we sent out guys to track down the in-state Ger—uh...you-know-whos." His eyes slid to Wisp and back again.

So far, the search for Wisp's Dr. Gerandy had turned up a big fat nothing. Plenty of men with the last name, but none even remotely suspicious. Due to the sensitive nature of the case, Emmett had finagled funds from the state to allow officers to physically interview all Gerandys face to face rather than on the phone, but even that hadn't turned up any leads so far. Edward tried to have faith—they were only about halfway through the list—but the longer it took, the less he was able to believe they'd uncover more about her past without the information James was unwilling to give.

Rose made a stink-face that curled her supermodel features into something pretty damn close to ugly. "I don't wanna hear about it this afternoon. You keep work at work unless you have some real information to give us."

Emmett held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm all for a little downtime. God knows I'll be up all night with those files anyway."

"Then go get drinks. I'm going to grab some towels, and we can have a late lunch."

Emmett brought back bottles of beer for Edward and himself and sweet tea for Wisp and his pregnant girlfriend. Of course he didn't bring anything else, like plates or napkins, for which Rose smacked him when she returned with an armload of towels. He repeated the short trip to the kitchen good-naturedly, and soon he was settled in the hot tub with Wisp and Edward, Rose perched on the edge with just her bare legs dangling in the hot water.

"Why aren't you getting in?" Edward asked as he passed Wisp a paper plate with a slice of Hawaiian pizza. He didn't want to irritate her sensitive tastebuds or stomach with spicy pepperoni, but Canadian bacon and pineapple seemed fairly harmless.

"It's verboten while I'm cooking a kid." Rose patted her stomach, which was still flat as far as Edward could tell. "Otherwise I might _really_ cook it, you know?"

Emmett snickered with a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni. Wisp was watching him closely, which Edward didn't think was such a great idea. Emmett wasn't the best person to mimic when it came to eating habits. If pizza ended up in the hot tub today, it wouldn't be Wisp's fault. "She's told me multiple times to drain this puppy to spare the temptation, or else she's gonna boil my kid."

Rose flipped him the bird, her mouth full, and Edward grinned as he turned back to Wisp. "With your hands, like a sandwich," he said, watching as she awkwardly raised the food to her mouth. "Except so, so much better." Even those big toasted sandwiches couldn't compete with good, greasy pizza.

Wisp took a hesitant bite at the sagging point of her slice, her mouth working to contain the strings of gooey cheese, forehead knotted in concentration until she finally succeeded.

Once she had a full bite, her expression changed. She smiled at the combination of salty ham and sweet pineapple, melty cheese and tangy sauce. Edward helped her fold her pizza slice in half like a New Yorker, to make it easier for her to handle, then let her enjoy her junk food in peace.

"How was the morning, by the way?" Emmett asked, cramming another huge bite into his mouth. "What'd the social worker think?"

Edward gave him a look. He wasn't as good at them as Rosalie, but he hoped it got his point across.

"That bad, uh? Shit, what did you do to fuck up a simple visit?"

"I didn't do anything. We had a bad night and then—do you remember the psychiatrist who came with her social worker the first time? Lawton?"

"No." Rose's eyes widened. "She didn't."

"She did," Edward confirmed. "Showed up like she had the dude on a leash or something. Wisp knew exactly who she was and had a huge meltdown."

"Poor kid." Emmett looked sympathetic even as he reached for another slice of pizza.

"No kidding."

"Edward?" A gentle tap on his bare shoulder and Wisp's soft voice interrupted his descent back into anger toward his morning visitors. A shy, hopeful expression crossed her sweet face and she held her empty paper plate toward him in entreaty.

It was the first time she'd ever asked for more, unless begging him to share his portions of chocolate cake counted.

His face broke into a wide smile, and he took her plate to accept the slice Rose had already plucked from the box. "You like it, huh? I'm glad."

"Um." She licked her lips as he handed the plate back, and she plucked a piece of warm pineapple off her pizza to pop in her mouth.

"Enjoy." Edward watched as she wrangled her slice without help this time, then filled Emmett and Rose in on what Lawton had wanted.

"Oh, _hell_ no," Rose said when she heard about the planned research project. "That bitch fucking touched her? If I'd been there, she'd have gotten way more than just a little nip on the hand."

"I think Wisp got her pretty good. She wasn't bleeding, but those teeth definitely left a mark."

Wisp's eyes flicked up when she heard her name, her attention momentarily diverted from her lunch. Edward couldn't yet tell why she seemed to pay attention only sometimes to the speech around her, mentions of her name notwithstanding. More often than not, she ignored it...unless someone was reading to her. Put a book in his or Rosalie's hands and they had her full and undivided attention until their throats went dry and their voices hoarse.

"Whatever. I'll fucking cut a bitch if she ever gets near that girl when I'm around."

"Noted." Edward rubbed his hair with a wet hand, then took the second beer Emmett offered him. "I don't think she has much of a shot, to be honest. For the funding to go through, I mean, and then to win out against the state. But I think she'll probably keep bugging us, regardless. Em, d'you think there's anything we can do? Legally, I mean. I don't think I can refuse to let her in if she keeps coming with Scott. He's got the final say over everything that concerns Wisp, including her mental health."

Emmett scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well, there's a number of things you could do. I dunno what's best, though. I mean, you could try to take out an order of protection against her, but you'd have to prove to a judge that she's a threat. I don't think the fact that she makes little Wispy cry really counts, unfortunately. Has she made any verbal threats? Not just that she wants to do this research thing, but actual threats? Has she done anything violent or inappropriate?"

"Putting her hands on a terrified, traumatized girl is inappropriate, no matter how gentle she was," Rose growled.

"I know, babe, but we gotta think about what a judge will say. I really don't think there's much you can argue realistically. You can't legally keep someone away from you for being annoying."

"Give me five minutes alone with her and she won't be showing that tight-ass face around here again." Rosalie grabbed for Emmett's beer bottle, but he held it out of reach. Edward knew her heart wasn't really in it, or else she would have climbed over him to get to the alcohol. Carlisle had said a drink every now and then was probably fine, but Rosalie refused to take any chances. "Either she was born with a lemon permanently wedged in her ass or she's had some bad work done," she added, raising her hands to her face and drawing the skin tight, mimicking the look of a bad facelift.

Wisp looked at her with wide eyes, which made Rose smile again as she dropped her hands. "Rose?"

"It's okay, kiddo. I was making fun of someone I don't like, but I'm not pissed at you."

"So if you don't think an order of protection is the way to go, what are my other options?" Edward asked, chewing on the last bit of crust from his pizza. Wisp played next to him in the bubbling water, raising her toes just above the surface and wiggling them as she leaned against the edge of the tub.

"Well..." Emmett's face scrunched up in thought. "Depends how far you're willing to go, I guess. I mean, you could always try to adopt her. It'd take some time and a pile of money, and the state might not even let you, but if you won then _you__'__d_ be her legal guardian, not the state. Scott couldn't make any decisions like that anymore."

Edward looked at the girl by his side, playing in the water with a peaceful expression on her sweet face. "But James said she's twenty. If he's telling the truth, she's not a minor anymore."

"Doesn't matter. You can adopt whoever the hell you want, minor or not. It sounds weird, but some older people adopt younger adults they've grown close to, to ensure they can pass on inheritances without trouble—shit like that. It happens."

"That's weird." Rose drained her sugary tea and refilled the glass. "Besides, doesn't there have to be at least, like, a minimum age difference between the adoptee and adopter? Edward's only, like, seven years older than her or something."

Emmett shrugged. "Hell if I know; I'm a cop, not a lawyer. What I do know is that, if you want to adopt her, you gotta get Scott on your side. He has to approve the match, and so does a judge. You've only had her for a couple of months, so I don't know if anyone would let you do something so permanent. You know, since her real family could still be out there looking for her."

Edward felt an uncomfortable stab of pain in his gut at Emmett's words. As far as he was concerned, he _was_ her real family. He loved her. He worried about her. He took care of her. While he still wanted to somehow reunite her with a biological family, assuming one could be found, the form that reunion took in his mind had changed from the simple tradeoff he'd imagined during those first few hectic days. Now things were...different. Yes, he wanted her to find happiness. Yes, he wanted to alleviate the pain and fear of anyone who was missing her. But he couldn't make a clean break now; he just couldn't. Not after she'd become such an integral part of his life.

But, if he was honest with himself, adopting her didn't sound so appealing either. Not just because of the money involved and the lengthy process, but because as Rosalie mentioned, it seemed...weird. For all her innocence, she wasn't a child. She needed a caretaker and he was willing to be that for her, but a father? No. No, that just didn't sit right. Maybe it wouldn't seem so strange if Esme wanted to adopt her, for instance, but...no. Not him.

"Can you, like, get her social worker changed or something?" Rose suggested.

Emmett shrugged. "Cop, not lawyer, remember? I got nothing to do with shit like that. But...well, if you want to know what I think, I think it would be better to try to work with the one you already have. Think about it. You won't be able to hand-pick Scott's replacement no matter how much you want to, and the next person they send might be worse. This guy, I say you do one of two things."

"Which are?" Edward was almost afraid to ask. Emmett was actually making sense. That was...scary.

"Either you scare him more than Lawton does, so he knows never to fuck with you, or you play nice and try to work with him."

"You know which one I'm for." Rose made a fist and cracked her knuckles.

Yeah, Edward knew which of those two choices she'd pick, but it wasn't her decision. It was his, and he needed to think about everything Emmett had said—maybe talk to Carlisle, too. Or Jasper. Jasper was level-headed and he worked with kids, so maybe he knew a little more about all this stuff with the social system?

Next to him, Wisp drifted against his side. Her head drooped, landing on his damp shoulder, and he smiled. She usually napped after lunch, and she was running on as little sleep as he was. On a day after a nightmare she fought her exhaustion crankily until she couldn't fight it anymore, but maybe today she wouldn't? Maybe they'd distracted her enough, and her nightmare was long forgotten?

Rosalie noticed when he slid an arm around Wisp's little body, letting her lean on him. "Come on," she suggested. "Let's dry her off and see if she'll sleep. You don't mind hanging around, do you?"

"Not if she wants to sleep." If they could get Wisp to rest, he was more than happy to stay. "I'd actually like to look at those files Emmett mentioned."

Emmett grinned as he gathered up the empty bottles and stood, shedding water. "We'll call you a consultant. Since you know more about her than anyone else, maybe you can decipher something from notes on all these Gerandys."

Wisp had said nothing more about the "bad doctor," but Edward wasn't going to argue. Not if he was getting what he wanted. He gathered Wisp up in his arms, lifting her easily. "Come on, pretty girl. Let's dry you off and see if you want a nap."

She sighed with regret as they left the hot tub. Edward made a mental note to visit Emmett and Rose—or at least their back yard—again soon. Tucking her dripping body close, letting Rosalie drape towels over both him and Wisp, he headed toward the house.

* * *

_A/N: There's a pic of Emmett and Rose's deck on my profile page since I can't post a link inside the actual text of my story. :)_

_Also, for those who haven't seen...I was interviewed by JaspersDestiny at TwiFic Central this week! Check it out here: twificcentral dot com slash 2012 slash 09 slash spotlight slash spotlight-interview-cris Uh...maybe just follow the link on my profile. ;-)_


	28. Chapter 28

_A/N: Ohai! This was a completely unintended update, because I'm supposed to be getting my outtake for Fandom 4 Suicide Awareness ready. But this week was Ooza's birthday and now today is darkNnerdy's birthday and I can't ignore those two! Ooza is my ebil oberlord, and darkNnerdy lured me onto Twitter. Does that make her my sire or something? Anyway, it's her 28th birthday and it's chapter 28! Fate, amirite?_

_I don't know how often updates will be this month. I have to get my outtake ready, and later in the month I'm going to Disneyland with LyricalKris! Squee!_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

Wisp was willing enough to let Rosalie strip her out of her swimsuit and towel her off, then dress her in regular clothes again. Rose waved away Edward's protests, calling it practice for when the baby came. Edward wasn't around babies very often, but he was dubious as to how much the quiet, obliging young woman could really teach Rose about an infant. But then, Rosalie's motivations were her own, and he wasn't going to second-guess them.

They settled downstairs in Emmett's warm brown den, a soft cave of a room, and Edward smiled at Wisp's yawn into his shoulder. He hoped she would fall asleep soon so he could go over the Gerandy files with Emmett. It was still so difficult to know how much she really understood, and he didn't want to talk about something so potentially upsetting if there was even a small chance she might catch on. Stroking her wet hair with a slow, rhythmic motion, he leaned back on Emmett's brown leather couch.

Even though he was still tired, things were definitely looking up. The soak in the hot tub had helped his sore body, Dr. Lawton getting the fuck out of his house had helped his head, and Wisp's soft, contented glance up at him definitely settled his emotions. It took so little to make her happy and yet, as her eyes drifted closed and then opened again, caught in that hazy place between wakefulness and sleep, Edward had to wonder. What did _happy_ really mean to her? He knew when she was content. He treasured her smiles and the delighted little giggles Pet's antics teased from her. But...to him, happiness was more than that. There was some measure of self-actualization, of acceptance and peace with one's place in life. Had she ever felt something like that? Would he ever be able to ask her? It was...a sobering thought. A well-treated domestic pet ought to be happy with the sort of things Wisp seemed most to appreciate: food, warmth, comfort, companionship. But this young girl was not an animal. She was a human being with a human brain regardless of the developmental milestones she seemed to lack. What did that mean? What was that mind of hers telling her, deep inside her consciousness where it was impossible for him to go? What did she want? What did she think? Would she ever be able to tell him?

"You've got that weird thinking frown-thing going on." Emmett leaned back, propping his bare, hairy feet up on an ottoman. "You always used to wear that look when you were writing your dissertation. In the middle of a conversation, you'd just tune out."

Yeah, he remembered getting grief about that from most people. But, in his defense, writing a dissertation was a huge deal.

So was Wisp.

"Just wondering," he said, craning his head to see Wisp's face. Her eyelids fluttered at the movement, but she seemed fairly asleep. A soft sigh left her mouth, and the tip of her pink tongue licked her lips before she subsided. "About her mind. She expresses her immediate feelings and needs well enough, but I can't help but wonder about her other cognitive abilities. Whether she can grasp abstract concepts. Is that ability something we're born with, as human beings? Or is it something we're taught, something our brains have to learn? How tightly is thought tied to language? Is it _possible_ to have abstract thought without language? What does that look like?" They were rhetorical questions only; Emmett certainly wasn't going to answer them. "I think it might be time to look for a professional who can help us." He didn't like it. Her psyche was delicate, fragile. The wrong person could do so, so much damage, which was why he was so adamant about Dr. Lawton staying the fuck away. But, to use Emmett's analogy, they needed a new player on their team. Or maybe...maybe a coach. Someone to guide them in the right direction.

"I think she's in there." Rose tucked a throw blanket around Wisp's sleeping body even though the den wasn't particularly cold. "Maybe she's waiting until she knows it's safe to come out. Maybe she forgot how, and needs some help. Maybe there's a key. Fuck if I know what to do, but I think she's smart, and I think she's resilient. She'll find a way to show us what she needs."

But once she did, Edward wondered, would they be able to provide it?

"Let me put her down," Rose added. "Holding her like that all the time must be awkward."

"I don't mind it." Having her in his arms was more comforting than not. He was able to know for sure that she was safe and content, to feel the relative tension of her body and gauge her fear or calm. But Rosalie had a point—going through files with Emmett would be difficult with a grown girl on his lap. He shifted her gently into Rose's arms, watching as she was transferred to a recliner. Rose leaned the chair back and tucked the blanket more firmly around her. She wouldn't stay there once she woke, but for now she looked pretty comfortable.

"You gotta quit hauling her around like that," Emmett said, digging through a sheaf of papers stuffed in two manila filing folders. "Lifting a full-grown person has got to be on the list of things pregnant women shouldn't do."

"I haul around heavier crap than her at the shop," Rose snapped back. "I'm already giving up the hot tub and alcohol. Don't push it." She settled on the overstuffed arm of the couch, turning sideways and tossing her legs over Emmett's lap. "Okay, if we're gonna look at depressing stuff, let's get it over with before she wakes up."

Emmett divided up the papers, handing some to both Edward and Rose. "These are the forms we typed up to help the boys keep track of their interactions with the Gerandys. There are about 400 in the state. We've interviewed almost half so far, in small batches. This is the latest haul."

There were maybe sixty files, some a single sheet, others stapled or paper-clipped together. Edward looked at the top sheet in his hand, just the questions, not the scribbled answers and notes that the police officer had jotted down. Some were direct questions for the officer to ask. Others were vaguer, asking the officer to make note of things like the Gerandy's physical appearance and demeanor. In the upper right-hand corner there was a box to check if the subject agreed to be photographed, and a blank line under it where officers could write down a code—presumably matching the photograph to the file.

"Do you have the pictures?" he asked. Maybe it was stupid, but he wanted to look at these people. No, you couldn't tell from looking whether someone was dangerous, necessarily, but Edward still wanted to see.

Obligingly, Emmett dug his laptop out of its case. "You know I'm not technically supposed to show you any of this. But we've got nothing so far, and I'll take a break wherever it comes."

Rosalie ignored him, flipping a file to look at the second page. Edward didn't particularly care what sort of laws they might be breaking. Not really. Not when someone from Wisp's past might be in these files. They needed to know what happened to her, and she deserved to have her story told.

Emmett set the laptop on an ottoman, the folder of digital photos open. Edward took it, scrolled through until he found the code that matched his first file, and studied it between reading the officer's notes. David Gerandy, age forty-three, from Yakima, was a heavyset man with a pronounced widow's peak, and there was absolutely nothing on the officer's form indicating anything suspicious. He had a wife and two sons and worked in telemarketing. He willingly listed the names of all family members living in the area. None were doctors, dentists, veterinarians, et cetera. He did not recognize the sketch Garrett had made from Wisp's drawing of the unknown man who frightened her.

And so it went. File after file of perfectly normal, everyday men linked only by a last name. Most were cooperative, eager to give any information they could once they heard what the police wanted. The approved statement from the officers did not reveal any details about Wisp, only that a man by the name of Gerandy was wanted for questioning regarding a young victim. After a while, they all started to blur together in a mushy pile in Edward's mind. What had he been thinking? He couldn't divine Wisp's Dr. Gerandy from this pile of names. They had nothing else—absolutely _nothing_ else—to go on. James still wouldn't talk. He didn't have the heart to ask Wisp to draw her "bad doctor" again. Her fingerprint and DNA samples hadn't turned up anything. What the hell else were they supposed to do?

"This is ridiculous." He dropped his pile of papers and pushed the laptop away. "There's nothing here to find."

"Welcome to the exciting world of police work. Not the same as on TV, huh?" Emmett glanced at the grid of photographs on the laptop screen. "A hunch or a feeling may be the most solid lead we get at this point. Just anything—anything that stands out. We already screened them all for arrests, and there's nothing more than a few drunk drivers and some traffic violations in this group. No assault, no child pornography charges. Not even a domestic disturbance. These dudes look clean on paper. But think about it—whether this doctor guy is the one who actually did this to her or not, he had to know what was going on. And everyone involved, they've got to look clean on paper if they managed to get away with this for so long."

"Then what's the point of all this?" Edward muttered, even as he knew the answer to the question. The point was asleep on a recliner across the room, curled on her side, breathing soft and deep.

Rose made an abrupt noise, sharp blue eyes flicking up to look at her boyfriend. "Why are you only looking at men?"

"Say what?"

"Why aren't there any women in your search?"

Emmett relaxed. "Oh, we thought about that. The old assumption that a doctor is a dude, right? But you were there when we introduced little Wispy to Alice. You saw how she reacted. If she didn't seem like she'd ever seen another woman before, her doctor can't be one."

"I'm impressed by your deductive reasoning," Rosalie said with a smile, "but that's not what I mean. I mean, there have got to be at least as many female Gerandys in the state as male ones. Why are you only talking to the men? If you're asking them about their family members and everything, you're missing out on a huge opportunity. Women know shit. Wisp's fucked-up doctor may be a man, but there are women in his family."

Emmett groaned and dropped his head into his hands. "You know what that means, right? Expanding the scope of the search? You're doubling the number of records we have to go through. Double the time, double the funding—"

"And double the chance of finding something," Rosalie interrupted.

"Double the chance of losing a needle of a clue in an even bigger haystack."

Emmett was going to do it. He whined at Rose, but Edward knew he was going to do it. There was no other option, after all—they _had_ to solve this puzzle. She might not realize it yet, but Wisp was counting on them.

"I still think..." Emmett glanced at Edward. He knew what the reaction was going to be. "...she needs to draw him."

"No." Edward shook his head. "She said no, and I'm not going to challenge that. She deserves the right to set her own boundaries." Even the concept of having boundaries was new to her, and he wasn't going to mess with her slowly-developing sense of self.

"You're the only one who can make that decision right now. You need to be sure that it's the right one." Rose's strong, lovely face was solemn.

"That's just it. How do I know?" Edward tugged at his hair, though he'd tried to stop the habit once he saw Wisp imitating it. "How do I know what she wants? What she _would_ want, if she understood?"

"You know her better than anyone. If you don't know, no one does."

And they were back to this—the same place Edward had been for...a long time. Questions he couldn't answer because Wisp was still such a conundrum, the secrets of her personality locked inside her silence, hidden behind big, wondering eyes. "I don't even know if she understands the idea of justice. Of holding someone accountable for something they did." She knew enough that she expected punishment for her own perceived wrongdoings, but that wasn't the same thing. Did she grasp, could she comprehend, turning that dynamic upside down? Giving _her_ a chance to see justice done, some sort of reparation for all she'd been through at the hands of these men?

How could he know?

Edward rubbed his forehead. What was he supposed to do? What was more important? Her mental and emotional well-being, or finding the bastards who made her like this? Really, how could he make a choice like that? He had absolutely no idea. What would she choose, were she able to express her own preference? Would she willingly bear the pain of old memories for the chance to bring her "bad doctor" to justice? Or was that too much to ask? Would she rather leave the past in the past and try to move forward from where she was now, with him, and leave the doctor buried? How was he supposed to know?

"Edward," Rose said quietly. "You know I agree with you about her boundaries. You _know_ how I feel about personal choice. But maybe we should try asking again. She's hurt and scared, but she trusts you. She loves you. Don't underestimate her strength just because she's afraid."

"I don't think she's incapable of handling it. I just don't think she should have to if she doesn't want to." But they were running out of options. What else could they do?

Wisp sighed in her sleep, shifting in the recliner, and it rocked a little with her movement. She seemed so small to him. Soft and fragile, not a child but something, nonetheless, that needed protecting. She couldn't do it on her own.

"You know what I think?" Rose asked. "Don't shoot the messenger. Hear me out. You care about her, but you also care about what she thinks of you. You don't want to ask her because you're afraid to be the bad guy. The thing is, Edward, you really have nothing to worry about. She _knows_ you. She trusts you. She wants to please you. If you ask her—if _you_ ask her, she'll do it. And she won't love you any less after."

Edward grit his teeth and tried to give Rosalie's theory the benefit of the doubt despite his automatic defenses going up. She always knew exactly what to say to get to him. She knew so, so well. And it was true, he guessed, that he didn't want Wisp to lump him in with James and the "bad doctor". He wasn't like them. He didn't want to hurt her, or use her for some sick game or twisted idea of pleasure. He wanted to hold her when she was scared, and watch her grow and learn. Ultimately, he wanted her to succeed in whatever way made her happy. The question was what, if anything, that had to do with bringing her "bad doctor" to justice.

Slowly, unsure about his decision even as he made it, Edward rose from the couch. He crossed to Wisp's chair and leaned over her, tickling her ear gently with his fingers. "Hey, little Wisp? I know you're sleepy, but can you wake up for me? Just for a minute."

A soft, sleepy hum left her lips and she tried to burrow further into the soft recliner, but her movements made it rock and her eyes instantly popped open. Alarm crossed her face, and she cried out as she clutched at the arm of the chair.

"Shh, you're okay." Edward lifted her, her warm body all but crawling into his arms in her haste to get away from the moving chair.

"Sorry. I didn't even think about the rocking." Rose sounded truly remorseful.

"It's okay; I didn't either." He returned to the couch holding Wisp's sleep-warm little body, her hands slowly loosening their death grip on him as her heart rate settled. She blinked blurrily, her mind still sleepy and slow, trying to puzzle out what exactly had happened. Edward was sorry—he'd never woken her before, instead letting her sleep whenever and however long she liked. But this was important. He needed answers, or at least the closest he could get.

"I don't know how much you understand right now," he told her, catching her chin gently and urging her to look at him. Those huge brown eyes told him so much, even when her limited words could not. "I wish I knew, but I don't. So I'm just going to talk, and hopefully at least some of it gets through to you." He took a deep breath, watching as she sucked her lower lip into her mouth, the corners drawn down in a worried pout. "You're fine, honey. Nothing bad will happen. I just want to talk to you about something." There were so many things he wanted to talk to her about, but the efficacy of those conversations was limited by her small vocabulary. "We're trying to find the men who hurt you. We want them to be punished for what they did to you. Because it's not right—it's sick and wrong—and I'm afraid getting you to understand that might be the biggest challenge of all." He exhaled slowly, watching her for a sign—something to tell him that at least some of his words were getting through. She chewed on her lip, a delicate furrow appearing on her smooth forehead.

"Yeah, I know. And I'm sorry." But he had to try. "Doctor Gerandy."

Wisp's body froze. Her dark eyes went wide and she jerked her head around, searching the room for her "bad doctor." She bit harder on her lip, the pink flesh white and strained, and Edward was afraid she might draw blood.

"Shh," he soothed, drawing her close, letting her hide in the crook of his neck—her favorite spot. "He's not here. He'll never come near you again, little Wisp, but I want to be able to find him and I need your help. Talk to me. Tell me something—anything."

But she voiced no words, only a soft whimper as she pressed close to him.

"What do you want me to do?" He wrapped his arms around her warm body, holding her close. "I want to find him for you. I want to see everyone who ever hurt you locked behind bars for the rest of their lives." In some ways the girl in his arms, the one peeping up at him with those huge dark eyes, was a world away from the one he'd found near death in the back of a truck. But in others, she was the same now as she'd been then. They had so far, so incredibly far, to go still. "You're not an animal. I can't say for sure how much of your childhood they took away from you, but it has to have been a significant amount. That's something I can never give back to you, and I'm so, so sorry for that." Had she ever had a chance to really be a child? To run in the sunshine, jump in puddles? To scream? To play? "Just give me a clue, sweetheart. Anything. Anything we can use."

The trepidation written all over her delicate face was something Edward hated to see. He loved this girl. At some point in the past months she'd crawled her way inside his chest and taken up residence there, and he was helpless now to stop it. Maybe a more professional distance would have been better, but it was far, far too late to change that now. She blinked, chewing on her lower lip, watching him with aching eyes. It was clear that she knew he wanted something from her, but she had no idea what. The desire to give it crashed against her inability to do so, and the pain of that conflict was etched across her face.

"Edward?" she whispered finally. The soft little hum of her words was hesitant, unsure. "Edward."

"Yes. I'm your Edward, and that's never going to change. Please don't be afraid. I'd never hurt you. I just want a clue—something we can use to find the bad doctor."

She shivered in his arms, her dark gaze flickering. "Bad," she told him. "Doctor bad."

"Yeah, you said that before. Can you tell me anything else?"

Wisp's frown deepened, whether in discomfort or concentration, Edward couldn't say. He watched her silent struggle, the way she sucked and bit at her lip, her delicate eyebrows drawn close together. He could feel Emmett and Rosalie staring, too, but they didn't speak.

She took a slow breath, then another. Those sweet, worried eyes weren't watching him anymore—they gazed out into the room, unfocused, unseeing. What was it like inside her mind? What was she looking for in there? The seconds dragged by, marked by the loud thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears.

"Doctor," she said slowly, sounding the word, feeling it out with teeth and tongue and that swollen, abused lip. "Doctor...give. Bad. Give bad. Bad, Edward."

"Shh, it's okay." He lay his palm on her head, encouraging her to nestle into the crook of his neck. It was a reassurance she liked, and he was happy to give her all of that she wanted. "Do you want us to stop looking for him? To just let it go? What can we do for you?"

"She can't answer that right now, Edward." Rose's voice was soft—much softer than she usually spoke to him. "If she's ever going to give us answers, it won't be today."

"Edward."

The word was soft, mumbled into the skin of his neck.

"What, little Wisp? What do you want? You can tell me anything."

She dragged a soft breath into her lungs, releasing it in a gentle sigh. "Home? Home, Edward?"

"There." Rose smiled. "Maybe it wasn't what you meant, but she just told you what she wants. Let's get her home."

* * *

"Bad?"

The worry in her voice broke his heart. Edward looked at the girl in his lap and stroked a hand through her dark, silky hair. The way she looked at him, like he could shatter her with one misspoken word, never failed to grip his heart in a way he didn't think would ever get any easier. They were alone now, back at the cabin, warm golden lamplight chasing away the shadows as night closed in.

"No," he told her, finding her cheek with the pad of his thumb and brushing gently. "Good. You're my good girl." She had the softest skin he'd ever touched, pale and rich as cream. "I'm sorry I pushed you. I just worry about doing the right thing, you know? It's pointless, though, I guess. When it's all said and done, the most important thing is that you're safe and happy. I don't want you to think you have to do anything you don't want to do in order to please me. If you don't want to talk about that man, we won't talk about him."

But she did not look convinced, worrying her poor lip again, her sweet eyes dull as they searched his. "Green," she whispered, brushing her soft fingertips under his eye. "Pretty."

Edward had to smile. It was a relatively new word for her, one she'd only started using a week or so ago. "Brown," he told her, echoing her touch, feeling the sweep of her lashes against his fingertip when she blinked. "Very pretty. So pretty. You have no idea, you beautiful girl." She was gorgeous, all pale skin and soft eyes, and even more so now that all her original bruising was gone and she was finally starting to fill out a little bit.

She'd been remarkably calm during the ride home, and Edward hoped it meant that she now understood that they could go away for a while but they would always come back. Expanding her physical world was no doubt good for her, but she was always more at ease here, in the cabin that had become her safety.

"Edward?"

She leaned forward and picked up his phone from the coffee table, glancing back at him several times to see if he would stop her. He didn't. Did she want to see how pictures worked again? Rose had promised to show her, but then they'd never got around to it.

Instead of offering the black rectangle to him, Wisp slid from his lap and crawl-hopped awkwardly on three limbs, holding the phone to her chest. She stopped across the room, at the little side table that held his speaker dock. Reaching up, she put the phone down carefully next to the dock, then turned and looked at him wistfully, biting at her lip.

Edward chuckled. "Do you want some more music, little Wisp?" They'd only listened to music a few times since she came to him, but she always seemed to enjoy it. He crossed to her and brought up a playlist of contemporary piano music, then slipped the phone into the dock.

Wisp made a soft sound of pleasure, a sweet hum, and raised her arms to him. Edward picked her up, letting her wrap her legs around his waist as he shifted his arms to hold her gently. "I see. You want to dance."

Her head nestled into its favorite spot on his shoulder, her nose brushing softly at his skin as she sighed contentedly and melted into him. He'd only "danced" with her once before, but apparently it made an impression. Rocking gently to the soft music, Edward let his mind drift and just held her. It had been a hard day, but she seemed fine. Rosalie was right—she didn't hold his questions against him. Whether he could sit her down and ask her to draw Dr. Gerandy with the same result was still a mystery.

"Good Edward," she murmured, burrowing deeper into his arms as the song changed.

"Good Wisp," he answered. "You're a very sweet girl. Don't let anyone make you think otherwise."

They swayed slowly through three more songs, until Edward heard an entirely unexpected and fairly unwelcome knock at the door. Since he'd already locked it for the night, he didn't have much choice but to carry Wisp with him as he opened it.

Thankfully, it was only Esme and Carlisle on the other side.

He let them in, eyeing the cardboard box Carlisle carried. It looked heavy.

"I've been meaning to bring these over for ages," Esme said as her husband set the box on the ground. "Finally I remembered when Carlisle was home to do the heavy lifting."

"What is it?" Edward set Wisp on the floor and shut the music off.

"Just some books we had boxed up, mostly from when you were a kid. I thought she might like them." Esme pulled the lid off the box as Wisp crawled close. Pet appeared from behind the couch and immediately jumped in the overturned lid. "Here, honey. These are for you."

Edward watched as his aunt settled on the floor with Wisp, encouraging her to look at the contents of the box. Carlisle stood a few steps away. Wisp wasn't entirely sure of him yet, and he wasn't the sort to push.

"How did everything go today?" he asked.

"I guess it could have been worse." Edward described the morning's events, including Dr. Lawton's threat to fight for guardianship if she obtained funding.

"That's unbelievable!" Esme protested, turning away from the girl eagerly leafing through a dense hardcover. "What does she want with her? She can't possibly love her."

Edward shrugged. "Money? Scholarly acclaim? I almost feel sorry for her. She's had to have seen a lot with her job, to be so jaded."

"That doesn't give her the right to hurt other people, especially the ones who need help the most." Esme frowned. "If you want a letter-writing campaign started, you just let me know. I've got contacts."

She most certainly did. But they hadn't released any information about Wisp to the media yet, Emmett and Scott both having agreed that keeping her world quiet and peaceful was worth far more than whatever help the public might be in tracking down her "bad doctor" and any other men involved in her past. It was their last-ditch option, the one thing they refused to try unless everything else failed. Publicly shaming Lawton would ruin that.

"In any case, she doesn't automatically win even if she _does_ get federal funding," Carlisle said calmly, easing one of Edward's most pressing fears. "There may be a fight, and I imagine it won't be a pretty one. But you and her social worker will have the upper hand—I suggest trying to cultivate a stronger relationship with him."

That was something Edward had already more or less decided on. He wasn't into threatening people, so trying to reason and work with Scott seemed to be his only real option. Emmett was right; there was no telling what the next social worker in line might be like if he tried to get rid of Scott.

"I'm thinking it's also maybe time to try to find a psychologist or something, too," he admitted. "Someone who can help us help her. Someone who can be used as an expert witness in case this thing goes to trial and I have to fight for her." The sound of Wisp digging in the box for another book reached his ears. No way was he going to just let Lawton take her.

"I think that's a good idea. Having one of her own dispute her, if it's necessary, will definitely take some of the wind out of Lawton's sails." Carlisle frowned. "That woman rubs me the wrong way. How she can call herself a doctor is beyond me."

"She probably was a good psychiatrist once."

Esme snorted indelicately. "That doesn't mean anything now, Edward, and you know it."

Yeah, Edward knew it. He also knew that she had a hard job—one of the most difficult he could think of. She saw the worst of humanity every single day, and—

A choked burble of a noise drew Edward's attention back to Wisp. Her face, normally pale, was dead white, and her hands shook as she held a thick black book. Even without reading the title stamped in gold on the leather cover, Edward knew from the distinctive look of the thing exactly what it was.

"Where did that come from?" He didn't remember having a Bible in his book collection as a kid. Esme wasn't religious in the least, and Carlisle, while he came from a devout family, did not attend services or require Edward to.

"It must have been one of the odds and ends I stuck in there years ago," Esme said softly. "What do you suppose—"

Wisp swallowed audibly. Without opening the Bible, she looked up at Edward and said very clearly, "Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me."

* * *

_A/N: Please to be blaming the birthday girls or twilover76 if you think this is a cliffie, since she posted one earlier this morning! Mwah! Loves you, duckies!_


	29. Chapter 29

_A/N: Ohai! Thank you for all the sweet reviews, they mean so much to me! Those of you who share your own personal stories with me, I'm honored, truly honored. Every time I hear from someone with personal experience working with victims and survivors, or in the system, or has firsthand experience with abuse of any kind...I'm touched every time I hear from you._

_Some people correctly identified the quote at the end of the last chapter: it was from the Book of Ruth. And some people, you silly readers, said something about Old English...which it definitely is not. Check out my blog at dconioned dot blogspot dot com for a rundown on what the term Old English actually means._

_All standard disclaimers apply. See you on the flip side, duckies!_

* * *

**Wisp**

Silence.

No one moved. No one breathed.

Edward stared down at the girl kneeling by his feet. Odd thoughts filtered through his head, utterly inappropriate for the situation. She really shouldn't be kneeling. Her voice, soft but lower than he expected, was harsh and raspy from all the crying she'd done that morning. Why hadn't he given her some warm tea?

Carlisle lowered himself, slowly kneeling before Wisp, keeping a cautious distance between their bodies. She wasn't sure about him, and the caring doctor in him couldn't bring himself to make her nervous by breaching that bubble. Edward watched as his uncle and ward knelt on the floor facing each other. Carlisle was still, hands on his thighs in front of him, not a blond hair moving. Wisp trembled, clutching the Bible in both hands, her pale skin stark and glimmering against the darkness of her long hair. She stared at the man kneeling before her, eyeing his ice-blue eyes and curious expression as he stared right back.

"Carlisle," Esme whispered, but he didn't answer. He turned his head slightly to the side, considering the small girl dressed in soft, loose fleece, her delicate fingers clutched around the black leather Bible.

"I am made all things to all men," he said, slow and deliberate, "that I might by all means save some."

She blinked, thick eyelashes fluttering, and took a breath. "And this I do for the gospel's sake, that I might be partaker thereof with you."

Silence again. Edward didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to _think_. They were obviously quoting from the Bible, but more than that he couldn't grasp. And Wisp, his quiet, nearly-mute girl, was not only speaking in full sentences, but in language that painted the quotes with age. Probably King James; that translation was still very popular despite its flaws. But...she didn't use complete sentences. She didn't use pronouns. Her language was constrained to very narrow measures, conveying her wants and expressing some limited opinions.

Wasn't it?

"When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things."

A little grimace passed quickly over Wisp's face, and Edward saw a ripple of...something...shiver up her spine. "For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known."

Carlisle took a slow breath. "Do you understand what you're saying? Do you know what it means?"

Wisp cocked her head to the side and regarded him solemnly.

"Tell me you understand," he urged.

Silence. Wisp dropped her gaze to the leather-bound book in her hands. After a moment, she lifted the Bible, flat on her palms, and offered it to Carlisle.

"Do you like it?" He scrutinized her features, refusing to take the book. "Does it please you? Give you solace? If you like it, keep it. But if it brings with it bad memories, I will take it back."

Wisp did not respond, her arms shaking a little with the effort to keep the book extended toward Carlisle. After a moment, he accepted her offering.

"Thank you," he said, appropriately solemn, Edward felt, for the situation.

She sank back on her knees once the Bible left her hands, a strange, wistful little sigh leaving her mouth. "Bad," she said softly.

"Bad?" Carlisle echoed her movement, sinking back too, so he was not towering over her. He held the Bible in a tight grip. "Who is bad? What is bad?"

Wisp only sighed again, staring at the book in his hands.

"Who is bad?" Edward echoed, settling to the floor next to her. He didn't mind the change in position; truthfully his knees were a little shaky after hearing all that. "Come on, sweetheart. Tell me, please?"

She turned toward him, reaching out her arms in entreaty, and it was a request Edward could never refuse. He let her crawl into his lap, her legs tipping over one of his like a waterfall of flesh and fleece. The side of her head came to rest on his shoulder as she sucked her lower lip into her mouth, worrying it as she so often did. "Bad," she said again—mournful, resigned. Not despondent; her mood lacked the passion for that.

"Bad what?" Edward urged, pulling her hair off her shoulders, gathering it down her back.

"Bad..." Her eyes stared blankly ahead of her, and Edward couldn't tell if she was looking at the Bible still, or something else entirely. Her mouth worked at her lip and she rubbed the ends of her sleeves with her fingers.

Esme had dropped to the couch, her face almost as pale as Wisp's. She drew in a ragged breath, the fingers of one hand pressed to her mouth as if to keep something back.

Wisp mouthed her lip, sucking it in, then releasing it, her brows tilted in the faintest hint of a frown. Edward watched, unable to do anything else, as she suddenly aspirated the gesture, the soft, puffy sound of an F leaving her mouth when her teeth let go of her lip. Once, then again, and again.

"F," Edward said. "What about an F, honey?"

Twice more, her blank gaze never wavering, as if he had not spoken. Then, softly, a single word slipped past her lips, rough and stuttery, unlike the fluid way she had rattled off the verses. "Father." She flinched back into Edward's chest as if hiding from the word.

Father? Father! "She remembers her dad," Edward breathed. "She has a dad."

"Let's not jump to conclusions." Carlisle lifted the Bible in his hand minutely. "She may not be referring to a literal father, but a metaphoric one."

"Was he bad?" Edward asked. He wanted to take her chin, tip her head up to meet her eyes, but he didn't quite dare. That unfocused, blank stare unnerved him a little. "Your father, little Wisp? Is he the bad one?"

She sighed again, and a shudder Edward was helpless to understand rolled up her spine. When she blinked, a tear spilled over and dropped to her cheek. Fuck. He hadn't even known she was close to crying. If those tears were because of something her father had done... Edward tightened his arms around her, vowing to track down her father if it came to light that he'd been in any way involved in or responsible for her current state. it wasn't fair. Fathers weren't supposed to hurt their little girls.

But the words that left Wisp's mouth confused him even further. "Bad," she said softly. It was fast becoming one of her most frequently used words. "Bad Wisp."

"No, honey. No." This time Edward did tip her chin up with a knuckle. It took a moment, but her eyes pulled back from wherever she had gone and focused on him. "Good Wisp. Such a good girl."

"Bad," she said again, and the amount of self-loathing in the word twisted something deep inside him. She blinked and two more tears spilled over. "Chasten thy son while there is hope, and let not thy soul spare for his crying."

"Oh, sweet girl." He wasn't familiar with the quote, but he understood it plain enough. Something sharp and prickly was stabbing at the inside of his ribcage. "Did your dad hurt you? That doesn't make you bad. How could anyone hurt a sweet girl like you?"

"Bad." She repeated the word, then scrunched up her miserable little face. "You are the devil's gateway; you are she who first violated the forbidden tree and broke the law of God. It was you who coaxed your way around him whom the devil had not the force to attack. With what ease you shattered the image of God: Man! Because of the death you merited, even the Son of God had to die...woman, you are the gate to hell."

"Uh..." Edward swallowed. "Tell me that's not actually in the Bible?" It wasn't a progressive document by any means, but he didn't think it was _that_ bad.

"It's not." Carlisle glanced up with a soft smile before returning his gaze to Wisp. "It's from an early Church father...about two hundred years after Christ. Tertullian. I didn't think anyone took much of his writing seriously anymore."

"Well, clearly _someone_ does." Edward stroked her shuddering back, urging her to tuck herself close to him. "Care to suggest how to explain 'bullshit' in a way she'll understand?"

Carlisle shrugged his shoulders. "I severely doubt she understands what she's saying. I guess it's possible, but to me it sounds more like a conditioned response."

"But that first thing she said," Esme broke in, soft and hesitant. "It sounded..."

"The Book of Ruth. Yes." Carlisle smiled. "One of the sweeter stories, if you ask me. When Ruth's husband dies, her mother-in-law, Naomi, tells her to return to her own people, but Ruth begs her not to make her go."

"Why wouldn't she want to go back to her family?" Edward asked, rubbing Wisp's cheek gently.

"Intreat me not to leave thee," Carlisle quoted. "Thy people shall be my people."

"It's so apt. Are you sure she didn't know?"

"I'm not sure of anything," Carlisle told his wife. "But that's my suspicion. She trusts Edward. If she understood true speech better, I think he'd know it."

"So you think it's just...sounds? Meaningless sounds she memorized at some point?" Edward asked, watching the girl in his arms. Tears dripped down her cheeks, though she was silent.

"They may have had meaning at some point, but I doubt they do now. She can mimic. She can recite. But she can't take the raw materials of speech and create her own. Not much—not well."

"But who would teach her to say such horrible things?" Esme wanted to know. She squeezed her hands tightly together in her lap, and Edward could tell that she wanted more than anything to hug Wisp tightly. She refrained because he was the one who soothed her, the one she always turned to when she was frightened or upset.

"There are people in the world who would turn even the beauty of faith into something to be feared." Carlisle rose slowly, his knee popping. "Unfortunately, I'm not sure it's much of a clue."

He was right. Edward adjusted Wisp against his chest and brushed at her tears. At first, he'd thought the discovery of the Bible made her happy, but now he wasn't so sure. There had been recognition, yes, but recognition wasn't the same as happiness.

Wisp sighed softly, exhaling against his shoulder. Her cheek was damp, but what unnerved Edward was the way she slumped against him. Her body wasn't sweetly pliant, melting softly into his; she huddled, rather, in a dejected little lump, obedient to his guiding hand but otherwise unmoving.

"Hey. What's the matter, little Wisp?" He brushed at her hair, urging her to meet his eyes. "This doesn't have to change anything. You know you're safe here."

But she wouldn't look at him and her eyes, when he caught a glance, were dull. They lacked the soft shine he was used to seeing from her, the glint of curiosity or sparkle of pleasure she so often wore.

"We're going to pick a different book," Edward said firmly. "Let's see if we can shake this mood." Distraction—for the both of them.

"I'll do some research," Carlisle promised. "The Bible isn't much help, but Tertullian...he isn't studied much anymore. He was never canonized by the Church. It's possible there may be a lead."

Edward didn't hold out much hope, but he kept his mouth shut. They didn't have anything else, after all, to go on.

Once Carlisle and Esme departed, leaving the box of books, minus the Bible, Edward ran a bath for Wisp and settled her in it. She'd begun helping wash herself weeks ago, but today she just sat in the water, staring down at her fingers in her lap. Edward slipped a soapy washcloth over her wet shoulders, wishing for the thousandth time that he could somehow figure out what was going on inside her head. He tickled her ear softly, hoping to coax a smile from her, but there was no response.

"Hey," he said, quiet, gentle, "it's okay. Whatever's wrong, we can fix it. You trust me, don't you?" That was the one thing between them that had never been in question. She trusted him. Whether he deserved it or not, whether it made sense or it didn't, she had trusted him almost from the beginning.

Silence met his words. She inhaled slowly and blew out a puff of air. Wet hair hung in long, dark strings, obscuring her face as she tipped her head forward.

"Please don't hide." Edward tucked her hair behind her ear. Wisp didn't respond, and her expression was oddly blank.

Not knowing what else to do, Edward dressed her in her favorite fleece pajamas and the fuzzy purple socks she loved, then carried her back to the living room. She stayed where she was put, head down, and when Edward placed a book in her lap she did not move to open it. He stroked her damp hair, not knowing what he could possibly do or say to break her out of this strange, despondent mood. He couldn't turn back time and prevent her from ever finding the Bible, though he wished he could.

Pet padded silently across the carpet, flopping her little black body down, her head crooked at an awkward angle on Wisp's thigh, blinking blissfully at her person. The girl reached out with one finger, tracing the midline of her cat's skull, triggering the rumbling buzz of a happy purr. Pet's forelegs stretched out and her paws curled, one after the other, kneading the air. Wisp stroked her slowly, moving her fingers back and forth between the cat's ears and along her jaw, but for the first time, the sight of her happy kitten did not bring a smile to her face.

Edward felt as lost as he ever had with this girl. He rubbed the back of his neck, watching the slow, distracted movements of her fingers. The things that usually made her happy—things that had brought a smile to her face just this afternoon—did nothing for her now. The softest clothes she had, a warm bath, her kitten...nothing seemed to make a difference. She stared blankly at her legs stretched out in front of her, shoulders slumped, nothing moving except for the slow brush of her fingers against Pet's fur.

He brought her bites of chicken swirled in a bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy—a favorite of hers—but when he set the steaming bowl on the coffee table, she merely glanced at it with dull brown eyes before looking away again.

"Come on, little Wisp. Don't do this." Edward pulled her into his lap on the couch, dislodging Pet in the process. The kitten squeaked her displeasure, then clawed her way closer to the bowl Edward picked up in his hand. "This isn't for you," he said, holding it away from the curious little black nose. He brushed her aside gently, then spooned up a bite of food and held it to Wisp's mouth. She turned her head to the side and sighed.

Two more attempts garnered the same reaction, and finally Edward gave up. He put the bowl of untouched food on the coffee table again and settled her more firmly in his arms. "Look, I know you can't tell me with words what's troubling you. It has something to do with the Bible, I know that much, but..." He sighed and tugged at his hair with one hand before returning his grip to her waist. "You're safe here. Whatever it is you're afraid of, it won't happen. How can I make you understand that?"

No response.

Not knowing what else to do, Edward hugged her tighter. "It's been a long day. Let's just try to relax, okay?" The optimist in him wanted to believe that she would be better by morning, after a good night's sleep.

The realist in him knew better.

It didn't stop him, though, from reaching for the topmost book in the box and flipping it open. This was one he remembered—an old favorite Carlisle used to read to him before he was old enough to read it for himself. "Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it. And then he feels that perhaps there isn't. Anyhow, here he is at the bottom, and ready to be introduced to you. Winnie-the-Pooh."

When he was little, Edward had been pleased that Winnie-the-Pooh's original name was the same as his. He realized that Wisp had no such tie to the story, but he hoped she would like it anyway. It was simple and sweet—nothing scary or stressful—and he hoped that was a good thing even if she didn't understand. She sat in his lap, soft and silent, staying where she was put but not nestling close. Her body was neither stiff nor pliant; it simply _was_. She resisted nothing. She gave nothing.

Edward read five of the very short chapters, but nothing changed. She didn't relax into him, didn't fall asleep in his lap, and her blank expression did not change. For the first time in over a month, he had to brush her teeth for her. When he left her alone for a moment of privacy, she did not use the toilet.

"Please," he murmured, gathering her back into his arms, bearing her slowly up the stairs, "I need a clue, sweetheart. I need to know what you want—what you need from me. Whatever it is, I'm happy to do it. But you need to tell me."

She said nothing, did nothing.

And for the first time ever, she was still awake on his chest when Edward fell asleep.

* * *

Blinking awake the next morning, Edward found himself on his stomach, one leg thrown out from under the blankets. He frowned as he dug his fingers into his eyes. Wisp never left him in the morning unless Rose took her, and this wasn't a Rosalie day...was it? No, no it wasn't. They'd gone to see Rose yesterday. Eaten pizza. Introduced Wisp to the hot tub. It had been, all around, a very satisfactory afternoon despite his frustration with the process of finding Wisp's "bad doctor."

But the evening...

Memories of yesterday evening flowed back into his mind as Edward rolled slowly out of bed, stretching the kinks from his body. Esme's box of books. The Bible.

And, holy shit, Wisp _spoke_. She spoke full sentences, reciting verses from the Bible like a record, a recording. Carlisle quoted to her, and she was able to quote back at him. It was huge—monumental.

But Wisp hadn't looked happy in the least. And then that last quote she'd spoken, something about women and a gate to hell. He shuddered at the memory. It was unnerving. Uncomfortable. And she hadn't said a word since. The blank look in her soft brown eyes worried him more than the Biblical quotes, honestly. Words in themselves were not dangerous, but her reaction to them proved that in the wrong hands, they definitely could be. Someone, at some point, had hurt her deeply with them. And while Edward hated knowing that, it gave him hope, too. A silver lining in the midst of all his confusion. At some point, she _had_ understood. She'd been able to read or listen to someone speak, and comprehend what was being said to her. If she had once had that ability, Edward hoped that meant they'd be able to coax it forth again, given enough time and the right technique. Having lost language was far preferable to never having it in the first place.

Making his mind up that he was going to try to find the positive in the situation, Edward rubbed his messy hair and started his search for his little Wisp. Maybe she was in the kitchen again, finding her own breakfast? She'd never done so without Rosalie. It would be a big step forward, tangible proof of her growing autonomy. Maybe he'd make her some hot chocolate. Mornings in Forks were always damp and chilly, and he knew she loved to be warm. He'd read to her all morning if she wanted, or set her up with some of her art supplies. Starting to go through the nearby therapists was on his list, too. He should write up a set of questions to ask them, and then see how many made the first cut. Not just anyone would do—not with Wisp. She needed someone special, someone who was willing to work with her at her level. Someone basically the opposite of Dr. Lawton.

But when he reached the bottom of the stairs, Edward realized that Wisp was not in the kitchen, scattering the contents of the cabinets as she searched for her breakfast. Neither was she in the bathroom, though there was a wet spot in the litterbox that was far too big for Pet to have made.

She was in the living room, curled on the floor next to Pet's bed, her naked body a pale skim-milk color in the thin morning light.

* * *

_A/N: Pleaaaaaase don't kill me! It's necessary, I promise!_

_Also, just a reminder that donations to Fandom For Suicide Awareness are due Nov 1! fandom4suicideawareness dot blogspot dot com. There will be a Wisp futuretake in the compilation!_


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: Ohai! How are all of you? Yes, you get an update because luvrofink and livieliv79 are big whiners! It's shortish because (that's right) next chapter is in Wisp's POV.

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

"Three days, Esme. Three days." Edward paced in front of the picture windows in his living room, staring out at the driving rain. "She won't do _anything_. Won't eat. Won't draw. She just sits there with her hands in her lap, and if I leave her alone for more than a minute, she's got her clothes off when I come back." His hand tightened around the house phone, head turning to glance at the girl at his feet. She sat still and silent, head bent, staring down at her limp hands in her lap. The only reason she still had her clothes on was his presence; the minute he moved away, she'd attempt to peel them off.

"Regression isn't all that unusual, sweetheart." Esme's voice was soft, though Edward could hear her concern.

"I know." He tugged at his hair. "I just hate how bad it got, and how fast. Jasper's worried, too. Says if she keeps refusing food, we might have to hospitalize her. I can't deal with that, and I _know_ she doesn't want it, but I don't know how to get through to her."

"She's terrified. Something about the Bible scared her badly." A soft rustle sounded over the line, as if Esme had stood up or sat down. "It may be that she's decided hiding in the safety of her previous routine is better than facing that fear. It may be that she's too afraid and isn't really cognizant of what she's doing. It's impossible for us to know for sure, since she can't tell us. But I believe that if anyone can coax her back out of herself, Edward, it's you."

"I'm not so sure about that." He sat heavily on the couch, staring ahead of him, hearing the rain as it sheeted against the windows. "I haven't exactly been doing the greatest job."

"She still trusts you, Edward." Esme's voice was kind—the voice he remembered from his childhood. She'd always been his encouragement, his source of motivation when his internal stores flagged. She was not only a wonderful person, but a wonderful mother. "If she didn't, she'd still be doing whatever she could to keep you happy. As unhealthy as fasting is, her refusal to eat also shows that she's not afraid of you."

"Lovely," Edward muttered. Truly, he did not want his little Wisp to be afraid of him. But he couldn't stand the thought of putting her in a hospital, and that's where she was going to end up if she didn't start eating soon. Her body was too small, too fragile—it couldn't withstand the denial of nutrition. Already her weight had started dropping.

"What does Rosalie think?" Esme asked. "She's usually very resourceful."

Edward shrugged, though he knew his aunt couldn't see it. "She managed to get her to use the toilet yesterday, but she had to literally sit her on it and hold her there. I can't do that—I won't." Not only was he absurdly uncomfortable helping Wisp with that particular bodily function, he just wasn't capable of being firm with her the way Rose was. One distraught glance from those huge, liquid eyes, and he was lost. He hated that she insisted on using Pet's litter box, but he couldn't force her to stop. Not when she looked at him like that.

"And the psychologist, or whatever you've decided on?" Esme asked. "How is that coming?"

Edward groaned. He had a list of approved mental health specialists from Scott—psychologists, counselors, therapists—but he hadn't even begun going through it. "I want to figure this hurdle out first," he told his aunt, "before tackling another one."

"You know," she said gently, her voice free of judgment, "a specialist's job is to help with things like this."

Yes, Edward knew. But once they found someone, that person would ultimately report back to Scott. He didn't want Wisp's social worker to know about this step backward until it was over, if at all possible. As much as Esme tried to assure him that regression was to be expected, he felt like a failure and he didn't want Scott to see the situation the same way.

"I just...I just want to figure this out first."

Esme didn't argue with him.

After hanging up the phone, Edward returned to the couch. Wisp was small and silent, a little ball of bone wrapped in fleece, her dark hair hanging in her face. Even Pet seemed to understand that something was wrong; she'd been quiet all day, slinking around the house or sitting next to her human, a solemn, silent witness.

"There are times," Edward said quietly, "when I wish I could read your mind. Actually, I always wish I could read your mind, but especially when you pull away like this. It isn't healthy, little Wisp."

No response.

"Come on, baby girl. I really need some help here."

Nothing.

"Look, I know you're scared. You have every right to be. I can't even imagine all that you've been through. But hiding like this isn't the answer. You're hurting yourself, and letting them win. Can't you see that?"

Wisp sighed and moved slowly, lying down on the carpet and curling on her side. She looked like an old woman for a moment, like her body hurt, but the way she tucked herself up in the fetal position was absurdly childish.

"Wisp," Edward called softly. "Little Wisp?"

There was no flicker of recognition.

Edward tugged at his hair again and twisted his body around, sprawling lengthwise across the couch. His head hurt. Maybe Esme was right. Maybe it was time to call in a professional, despite his resistance to the idea. Scott had to expect regression, right? No one could move forward without setbacks.

He couldn't make himself believe it.

Wisp was different—special. It felt like she didn't, _shouldn't_, follow the rules that the rest of the world followed. Why _couldn't_ she just move forward, no setbacks? Didn't she deserve to? Didn't she deserve a smooth, steady recovery after everything she'd already suffered?

"Beautiful girl, tell me what I need to do. Tell me what you need, sweetheart."

Only silence answered him.

With a worried glance in Wisp's direction, Edward leaned his head back against the side of the couch and settled in to read. There was nothing he could do to help her at the moment, but he had trouble concentrating on his book as he watched her with half an eye. She was sleeping—nothing more. No nightmares, no pain. And yet, he knew that little fleece-swathed body held more hurt than he could possibly imagine.

"I'm going to figure this out," he promised. "We'll fix you, little Wisp. Just trust me, and give us some time."

* * *

Warm.

Soft.

Wet—wet heat. Oh, god, it felt so fucking good. It'd been a hell of a long time since—yes. Just like that.

A lock of silk-soft hair brushed his abdomen, and Edward's eyes cracked open. What was—he knew that hair. Slowly his mind began to seep back to him even as his hands reached out to wind into that sweet, soft hair. Watery and vague, the form of a pale-skinned woman swam in his vision, kneeling to the side of the couch, her head bent over his crotch, her mouth moving steadily around the hard length of his cock.

Mind, memory, and eyes kicked in almost simultaneously, and Edward made a choking sound as he jerked, and he scrambled away from the soft mouth urging pleasure from his body.

"Wisp!" His voice was a pained groan as he pulled away, jerking the fly of his jeans together again. God, she was far too good at that. Way, way too good, and the thought of that made his stomach twist sickeningly. "Wisp, no!"

She'd removed her clothes again, and the dim blue light of the driving rain outside painted her pale flesh in feathery shadows, adding depth and curves where Edward knew they didn't really exist. She was, in that moment, not only beautiful but desirable, and the realization twisted Edward's gut even tighter. Those huge dark eyes of hers were wide and startled, her little mouth puckered with surprise. The deep groove of shadow carved under her clavicle, softened by rain-washed light, caught his eye and he couldn't look away. Her lips moved without sound, and she leaned toward him again.

No. No, she couldn't touch him. Not now, not looking like that. "No," he said, trying to sound firm, but she wasn't listening. One slender hand reached out, latching through a belt loop on his jeans and tugging hard. Her brows drew together, though Edward couldn't say whether in confusion or stubbornness, and her lower lip disappeared under her upper teeth.

"No," he repeated, firmer now, backing away. Her fingers snapped away from his belt loops and her eyes widened again, dark and full, her silence rife with something Edward couldn't name. His stomach twisted again and he stumbled another step back. Wisp shifted onto her hands and knees as if to come after him, her head tipping back, lush hair falling around her determined face. The knobs of her spine traced a sinuous line that dipped down the small of her back only to rise again, melting into the round little curves of her ass. The look on her face...he knew that look. Knew it, and seeing it on his Wisp was too much. He wanted to puke...to run...to...something.

Moving jerkily, Edward took the first escape he could. Rain beat against his skin, wet gravel sharp on his bare feet as he moved into the murky twilight. Wisp wouldn't follow him out here—of that he was sure.

God, what was she _thinking_? What was _he_ thinking? Granted, Edward knew intellectually that he couldn't really control his body's reaction to the sight of a naked girl or the feel of her mouth on him...but his conscience told him he ought to. She didn't know what she was doing. She was lost and afraid, just like Esme said.

It didn't make him feel any better.

This was _Wisp_. His ward—the girl he was supposed to protect from assholes who wanted to use her. What sort of evil fucker was he, if he became one of them himself, even just in his mind? His stomach twisted again, threatening to make him sick. A little sound of protest wormed its way from his throat as he slammed his back against a wet black tree trunk and pulled his phone from his pocket.

"Rose!" he barked.

"What the fuck?" her disgruntled voice answered. "You have the worst timing, Ed, you know that?"

Edward's eyes snapped shut, though that only reinforced the mental image he wished he could will away. "Get over here!" he snapped, digging his free hand into his saturated hair. From the open door of the cabin a dozen steps away, the rising sound of Wisp's cries reached him. "Please!"

The rustling noise of fabric shifting crackled over the phone, the low sound of Emmett's murmur too quiet for Edward to understand. "Hang on," Rose said. "What's wrong?"

How was he supposed to answer that one? "Just—please. I need to not...be around her right now."

Silence. Then Edward heard a car door slam. "I'm on my way."

He ended the call, shoving the phone back in his pocket to try to protect it from the driving rain. Groaning quietly, he slid down the rough tree trunk and huddled in the muddy gravel at its base. The smell of wet pine and pitch was strong in his nostrils, and he could hear Wisp crying over the soft roar of the rain. His breath gusted white when he exhaled.

What the hell was he going to do? Rose was going to drag an explanation from him, that much he knew. And what then? She'd try to tell him it wasn't his fault, and he'd nod and let her explain the incident away however she wanted, but it wouldn't change how he felt.

Wisp couldn't help the way she acted. She couldn't help being sexualized any more than she could help her inability to walk or talk. He didn't blame her—not really. It was the fault of those sick fuckers who made her what she was.

But the way she acted out sexually was getting worse, and Edward didn't know how much more of it he could take. He wasn't going to suddenly snap and take her up on the offers he _knew_ she didn't really mean, but seeing her like that made him sick to his stomach and irrationally angry. Or rationally, maybe. The problem was, she didn't deserve his fury. And he couldn't just call Rosalie to come deal with this every time it happened.

"Edward, what the fuck did you do?"

Raising his head, Edward saw Rose slam her way out of her car, Emmett on her heels. Wordlessly, he pointed to the open cabin door.

Rosalie rushed inside, but Emmett crouched near Edward in the rain. "Hey, man."

"Hey."

"You know, little Wispy's the only one I let cockblock me so often."

Edward grimaced. "Way too much info, Em."

They were silent for a minute. Edward stared at the lighted windows of his cabin, watching Rose's silhouette move through the living room.

"You gonna stay out here doing your impression of a drowned emo?"

Edward shrugged. He wasn't sure it was safe to go back yet, frankly. "I don't know what to do anymore, Em."

"Still not talking, huh?"

"No, but it's more than that." The rough bark of the fir tree behind him was uncomfortable and he was sitting in mud, but Edward didn't bother to move. "She's...I don't know how to describe it. Sometimes it's like living with a ghost. She doesn't talk, doesn't move. Won't eat. Then she does these things and I just..." He shook his head.

"What things?" Emmett shifted on the balls of his feet, crouched near Edward. His hair was dripping water down his neck.

"I told you she keeps taking her clothes off when I'm not looking. That's bad enough, but today's the second time she's tried to touch me like—like that. It makes me sick."

"What'd she do?"

Edward grimaced. He didn't really want to repeat it.

"That bad?"

"Worse." He made another face. "I fell asleep on the couch and when I woke up, she had my...yeah. In her mouth."

"Shit."

"Yeah." Edward tipped his head up, rain falling in swift drops on his face. "I'm all paranoid now, you know? Like, what if she starts trying shit in bed? I can't deal with that. I'd never be able to go to sleep again, and you know she'll throw a fit if I try putting her in her room at night." Edward felt another headache coming on. It felt like he'd had them for the past week almost constantly. "I love her—you know I do. She's the most important thing right now, but I don't think I can deal with this if it keeps happening. So what do I do?"

Emmett rose, his knees cracking, and held out a hand. Edward took it and let his bigger friend yank him to his feet. "I think," he said, "it might be time to look into that shrink you've been talking about."

Yeah, Edward got that. Everyone thought it was time for professional help. Maybe they were right. "Fuck," he said quietly. "I know no one likes that Dr. Lawton, but I can't help thinking she might be right."

"Dude, about what?" Emmett frowned. "Bitch doesn't know what she's talking about."

"She said I wasn't a good caretaker for Wisp because I don't know enough. I don't like to admit it, but maybe she was right."

"You don't really think that."

Edward looked up at sound of Rosalie's sharp voice. He and Emmett slowly entered the cabin, trepidation filling him. What would he find? Wisp wasn't crying anymore, at least.

She was dressed again, seated on her cushion on the floor, hands in her lap. Rose offered her a mug that smelled like hot chocolate, but Wisp didn't turn her head to look.

"Edward, you need to just chill, okay?" Rosalie looked at him. "I don't know what happened, but you really scared her."

Well, she'd really scared him, too. He took a seat on the couch well away from Wisp. "I don't know how much longer I can do this," he said honestly.

Rosalie looked up, a cautious sort of surprise in her glacier eyes. "What does that mean?"

What did it mean? Edward didn't know. He stared at the soft girl slumped tiredly on her cushion, leaning on Rose's shoulder. He wasn't abandoning her; he couldn't. It wasn't even an option. But what, then, could he do? He couldn't just let her continue to act out like this. It wasn't healthy for her, and it was driving him crazy. But telling her no only made her cry—it didn't actually stop the behavior. He refused to punish her, so...what was left? What could he do?

"Edward," Rose said, "You made a promise to her, just like Emmett and I made to our kid when we decided we were going to have one. You can't just give up now."

"I'm not giving up!" Edward dug his hands into his saturated hair. His ass was smearing mud over the couch, but he couldn't find it in him to care. "I just...whatever I do, it's not working and I don't know what else to try."

Rosalie was silent for several minutes, stroking her hand through Wisp's dark hair. The girl did not respond. "Tell you what. I'll stay with her tonight. You shower, then grab Carlisle and head to our house with Emmett. Call Jasper if you want. Do some guy shit. You need to chill, and think."

Edward looked at Wisp. For the first time, he felt something akin to relief at the thought of a break. Usually he spent his time away from Wisp worrying about her and wanting nothing more than to get back to her.

Not tonight.

"Come on, bro." Emmett clapped a hand on his shoulder with a wet, smacking sound. "Let's go get Papa Carlisle and then get you a drink."

* * *

A/N: Who else is going to Twific Meetup this coming June? I'm going to be there, along with Ooza, abadkitty, and the sweetest lady in the known universe, sweeneyanne! Others, too, possibly, including luvrofink, livieliv79, lyricalkris, and callmepagliacci! You know you wanna come meet us! Get the info at twificmeetup dot com! I'm bringing moonshine, and we're starting a fund for bail money so, you know, that's a for-sure good time!


	31. Chapter 31

_A/N: Ohai! Okay, so I know I promised y'all Wisp POV, but Rosalie got wordy and we didn't quite get that far. Next chapter, I promise!_

_This chapter is for luvrofink, who is having a hard time (but is still one hell of an amazing author!). Are you reading Kaleidoscope? She rips my heart out with that story. Just sayin'._

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

Carlisle said nothing when Emmett and his nephew collected him, but he knew from the tight expression on Edward's freshly-washed face that something was wrong. He glanced between the two men he'd known almost from infancy, both tense, both uncharacteristically silent. It had something to do with the girl in his nephew's care, he was sure of it. Nothing else could make Edward look like that.

Not for the first time, Carlisle let himself admit that he wished Edward had made a different choice regarding the girl. She was an undeniably pretty thing, and the desire to help her was strong in everyone who met her, he suspected. Such a tragic figure, a little girl lost, terrified of just about everything, unable to voice her fears or even give her name.

But Edward was his nephew—a boy he and Esme had raised almost his whole life. When Esme had come to him with news about her sister's incarceration and the desire to keep the little boy she'd left without parents, there was no way he could say no. Not to Esme. Not with a request like that. And though the first few years had been bumpy, learning how to parent a child with a rocky past, Carlisle never once regretted it. Edward was his son now—now and always—and as his father, Carlisle felt it was his right to be concerned about the ridiculously difficult task he'd taken on. The girl they called Wisp was damaged—perhaps irreparably so. She'd been showing remarkable progress, but the sudden regression Esme explained to him was more than troubling. She wasn't just back where she'd started. In some ways, she was even worse. At least when they found her unconscious in the back of that truck, her self-preservation instincts were sound. She ate. She slept. She did her best to communicate in her own way. Now, according to Edward and Esme, she did nothing.

Jasper was waiting by the front door when they pulled up at Emmett's house. He gave Carlisle a curious quirk of his eyebrow, which Carlisle took to mean that Jasper didn't know what was going on either. Emmett ushered them inside and down to his den, where he opened the liquor cabinet and handed Edward a glass without a word.

"What happened?" Jasper asked, selecting a beer from the mini-fridge and popping the top before settling into a recliner.

"Ed got a kind of nightmare awakening," Emmett said, once it was clear that Edward wasn't going to answer. Edward poured a lowball of Jack, knocked it back, and poured another. Carlisle took a beer, but limited himself to just the one. If they were planning to go home at all tonight, Edward definitely wasn't driving.

"Did that doctor bitch show up again?" Jasper asked.

"No." Emmett shook his head. "Little Wispy woke him up from a nap with a blow. Fucking nice way to wake up under other circumstances, but not with that little one."

Edward's face twisted painfully, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Can we not talk about this, please?"

Carlisle understood his reticence, he did, but running away from the problem wasn't going to fix anything. "Son," he said, "are you okay?"

Edward's right shoulder jerked; not quite a shrug. He poured another drink.

This was serious. Not the drinking—if Edward wanted to drink himself silly for one night, Carlisle certainly wasn't going to stop him. But the fact that Wisp had touched him like that...was more than troubling. He was a thoracic surgeon, not a general practitioner or a psychologist, but even he knew that victims of sexual abuse often acted out sexually. In that sense, it wasn't all that surprising that the girl had attempted something of that nature. But still...

"That's sexual assault, Edward." He knew his nephew didn't want to hear it; could see it in the way the younger man's shoulders and back tensed. But it was important for Edward to know what he was dealing with. This wasn't just harmless, misplaced affection. This was part of her dysfunction, part of how her abusers had hurt her. For both of their sakes, it couldn't be permitted in her new life.

"She doesn't know any better." The low voice grated out from a tense jaw and throat.

"I know that, and I'm not suggesting that she does. I'm also not suggesting that you prosecute or anything like that. But this can't be allowed to continue, Edward. It's not healthy for either of you. I severely doubt it's a one-time occurrence."

"She's done stuff before," Edward admitted slowly, "but never this bad. I just...need some time, okay?"

"What you need is someone who can work with her to prevent it from happening again." Carlisle knew he was on thin ice here. Edward knew he only wanted the best for both of them, but Carlisle had also made it clear that he thought it would be better to place the girl elsewhere, not with Edward. It was nothing against her, but Edward's entire life had been put on hold to deal with her, and that wasn't fair to him. He was a young man just starting out in his career, his adult life. Regardless of the reason, that girl was severely disabled. It wasn't Edward's duty to take care of her just because he'd found her, and yet, Carlisle knew that's how his nephew felt. "She doesn't know any better, but the behavior is unacceptable."

Edward pulled at his hair with one hand. "What do you want me to do? I won't punish her, Carlisle—I can't. What do you expect from me?"

"I expect you to do the right thing."

"What _is_ the right thing?" Edward demanded, finally turning to look at his father figure. The flush of alcohol warmed his cheeks and his eyes already looked a little glassy. He was frustrated, swaying toward anger. "I know the basics. I mean, I know I shouldn't touch her like that—and you know I won't. I know I can't abuse her, and I know I can't give her what she thinks she wants. But what's in the middle? What do I do?"

"Find someone who can help her professionally," Jasper said quietly.

"That's not a magic cure!" Edward threw back another drink, then left the liquor cabinet and fell onto the couch next to Carlisle. "A professional can't just snap their fingers and fix her. It'll take months—years—maybe the rest of her life. I need to know what to do _now_ to get through to her."

"What you need is the guidance of a professional, though." Jasper's voice was soft. "They can tell you how to work with her, to keep the relationship healthy for both of you."

Carlisle was very happy with that answer. Edward definitely needed some help, not only for the girl's sake, but for his own. "Your own mental and emotional health is important," he added. "Don't ignore that just because you're worried about her. She needs to learn appropriate boundaries, and that touching you sexually is definitely not okay. You care about that girl so much, Edward, and I'm afraid you're not able to be firm when you need to. Does that make sense?"

"She doesn't _need_ firmness!" Edward pulled hard on his hair, something he'd done since he was small. Carlisle and Esme had tried, but they'd never been able to break him of it. "Don't you get it? She's had nothing but abuse all her life. She needs a chance to grow now—to be comfortable, and happy, and do what she wants, not what she's forced to do."

"And you can give her that. But she has no idea what normal human interaction is—how to behave properly. She needs to learn if she's ever going to live even semi-independently. I think you're mistakenly lumping teaching and boundaries in with punishment and abuse. It's not the same thing at all, Edward."

Emmett put another drink in Edward's hand. His pale skin was growing pink as the alcohol quickly filtered through his system. Normally he wasn't a drink-to-get-drunk kind of person, but Carlisle wasn't going to deny him today. "Rosie's taking care of her tonight," Emmett said. "Just relax, bro. Forget it for a night, and in the morning you'll feel better."

"She's just so small," Edward muttered. "She's so small, and those sick fuckers..."

"You can't change her past, no matter how much you want to," Jasper said. "It's always going to be part of her. The best way to help her is to find someone who can teach her how to live with it so it doesn't consume her."

"Son." Carlisle reached out, wrapping his long fingers around Edward's shoulder in a firm, compassionate grasp. "Bad things happen—horrible, awful things—every day. Every second. She's not so different from thousands of other women and children lost and in pain."

"She _is_ different," Edward insisted, as Carlisle knew he would. "She's different because I can see it when she hurts. I can hear her when she cries. Damn it, I don't think I'm ever getting that first sight of her out of my head."

"You can't save them all."

A dark, humorless laugh bubbled out of Edward's throat. "Looks like I can't even save her." He accepted another drink from Emmett, then dropped his head into his hands, weaving his fingers through his hair, palms pressed against his bent forehead. "She needs a motherfucking hero."

"She needs a really good shrink," Jasper muttered. Carlisle heard, but if Edward did, he didn't respond.

"This isn't a fairy tale. A knight on a white horse, a kiss—these things aren't going to fix anyone, least of all a damaged girl who can't even tell us her name. What's going to make a difference in her life are time, patience, and compassion. You've chosen to take this on, and you've done admirably so far. I don't think anyone would blame you if you decided you really couldn't handle it."

"No," Edward said, as Carlisle knew he would. "No, I'm not abandoning her. I don't know how many people in her life have already done that, but as far as I'm concerned, it's too many. I won't be another."

"Then, for both your sakes, you need to take care of yourself." Carlisle suspected Edward's memory of this evening would be fuzzy in the morning. He shook his head imperceptibly at Emmett when the bigger man indicated giving Edward more to drink. "You need to eat and sleep. You need to spend time recharging, away from her. You need to keep...not distance, I won't say that, because I don't think that's really possible. But perspective, certainly. You're so lost in your need to make her happy right now that you're not looking at the situation objectively."

Edward's only response was a grunt.

"C'mon." Emmett threw himself in a lounger and reached for the remote. "Let's ignore the problem and hope it goes away. Or Rosie fixes it."

* * *

"Hey now." Rosalie knelt down by the silent girl. Her tears had dried, but the blank expression on her delicate face was almost worse. She was like a bland little doll, unmoving unless Rose moved her, unspeaking unless Rose put words in her mouth. "We've got to do something to snap you out of this, kid. You're worrying everyone, you know, and it's really rough on Edward. I know I give him a hard time, but he's a good guy. A little soft for my taste, but that's probably better for you, huh?" She put her hand firmly under Wisp's chin, lifting, trying to get the girl to meet her eyes. The narrow head lifted easily enough, but her dark eyes were evasive, staring fixedly at a point beyond Rose's shoulder.

"I know it's hard." Rose rubbed the sharp line of Wisp's jaw with her thumb. She knew better than anyone how difficult it could be to face the world after a traumatic experience. But hiding wasn't the answer. It might feel better than the pain of facing the past for a while, but Wisp would never heal if she kept choosing avoidance.

"It's not your fault, honey. None of it is. But, you know, this is your life now. This is where you are, and you can't pretend otherwise. Edward wants to be whatever you need him to be, and the rest of us are here for you, too. But you have to help. We can't fix you, little darling. We can only help you fix yourself."

The glazed, distant stare didn't flicker.

"I know." Rose sighed. "I know. It's not easy even in the best of circumstances, and fuck if I know how much of anything you understand. But you can't shut the world out. It doesn't work that way."

When there was still no answer, Rose decided that the lecture was over. It probably wasn't doing any good, anyway. She left the room and rummaged in the kitchen, fixing some quick pasta tossed with spinach and olive oil and a little parmesan. Wisp probably wouldn't eat it, but that didn't mean they could stop offering. Plus, Rose was pregnant. She'd happily eat whatever Wisp refused.

Jasper was worried about the self-imposed fast more than anything else, which Rose could understand. Wisp consented to sip a little water every now and then, but that was it. If they couldn't make her eat, Rose worried that she'd end up in the hospital, which she _knew_ Wisp would not like.

"Okay," she said, bearing two plates of food into the living room. "Here's the deal. You need to eat. I'm not scared of you like Edward is, so let's see what a little more insistence will accomplish, shall we?" She put the plates on the table, giving the girl the opportunity to eat for herself. Unsurprisingly, she did not.

Rosalie twirled a compact bite and offered it, touching the twisted strings of pasta to Wisp's closed lips. The girl stared blankly at nothing, not moving, not acknowledging the food in any way.

"Okay. Time for the big guns." Rose was glad that Edward wasn't here. She'd never hurt Wisp, but she was willing to bet Edward would come running if he heard or saw any sort of struggle. She understood his overprotectiveness to a degree, though she herself did not feel it. Shielding someone from the bad parts of the world, or the unpleasantness that came with independence, would never help anyone. Wisp needed to learn.

Rose carried the plates of food back into the kitchen and set them on the long-unused table. Pet jumped onto a chair, little black nose working furiously as she sniffed the smell of starch and cheese.

"Don't you even think about it," Rosalie said, batting the black head away. "That's people food, not cat food. I don't care if your Wisp feeds you from her plate, but I'm certainly not going to."

Returning to the living room. Rose lifted Wisp from her cushion and into her arms. Emmett would always bitch about her carrying the girl around, but she really wasn't all that heavy. It was a little awkward now that Rose's belly was starting to grow, but that was it.

"There are some things," she said, carrying the unprotesting girl into the kitchen, "that I _know_ will get a reaction out of you. I'm sorry, hon, but you have to wake up."

Rose lowered Wisp into a dining chair. She knew the girl wasn't going to be happy about it, but at this point all she wanted was a reaction—something to wake her up from the apathetic somnolence she had retreated into. Lowering her further, Rose attempted to sit her in the chair.

Wisp whimpered softly, twisting against the arms still holding her. She obviously didn't like this, and she wasn't going to sit still for it.

"Come on," Rosalie coaxed. "If you won't sit in the chair, do something else. Make a choice—a decision for yourself. Fight me, talk to me—anything."

She released her, and Wisp stiffened her body and slid from the chair, huddling beside it on her knees. Pet watched from the seat of a different chair, eyes wide and wondering.

"Wisp," Rose said. "Wisp, look at me, honey." Even eye contact at this point would be better than nothing.

The girl shifted onto her ass and pushed herself under the table, drawing her knees to her chest and clasping them firmly in her arms. It wasn't ideal, but she was at least moving on her own.

"Wisp." Rose got to her knees and crawled under the table too. That was going to be more difficult soon. Right now her belly wasn't big enough to cause too many problems, but that would change quickly. "Okay, kiddo. I see you. You see me. We're on the same level. Talk to me."

Wisp chewed worriedly on her lower lip, letting her soft hair hang over shoulders, obscuring her face. Rosalie tucked it back behind her ears. "Hey, you're okay. No one here is going to hurt you. But we need you to be strong. Come on, you can do this."

She did not speak—not that Rose really expected she would—but hesitant brown eyes slowly lifted, darting back and forth across Rosalie's face, meeting her gaze for the flicker of a moment before she dropped them again.

"Good, that's good. I like it when you look at me. Do it again." She tipped the small chin up once more with gentle fingers. There were tears in Wisp's eyes, and they spilled over when she blinked. "Dollface, I'm sure you've had plenty of things to cry about in the past, but you don't right now. Come on. You're strong enough to fight this; I know you are."

Wisp inhaled a shaky breath, the exhale no less unsure. Wet eyes blinked again, so dark against the sunken pallor of her skin. Hesitantly, as if she thought she might be struck at any moment, she shifted forward onto her knees and made as if to crawl into Rose's lap.

"Do you need a hug?" Rosalie smiled. That was more like it. She lifted her arm so Wisp could shift closer, bridging the space between them. The girl was sharp and bony under the masking softness of her loose clothing, but Rose let her nestle close anyway. "You can have all the hugs you want. Everyone is happy to give you affection; that's not the problem. You just need to learn the difference between appropriate and inappropriate touch. You freaked Edward out pretty badly."

Wisp sighed, her body relaxing slightly. Rose stroked her hair away from her face with a gentle hand. This girl needed so much help, and Edward couldn't do it on his own. "We are none of us a fortress unto ourselves. Sue me if I didn't get the quote right. Anyway, the point is, Edward is being a typical man and refusing to admit that he needs help. I think you're doing an excellent job of showing him how wrong he is, but I wish you wouldn't take it to such extremes."

Wisp's head tipped up, brown eyes meeting blue. Rose stroked her cheek with the back of her fingers. "There you are." Eye contact was good. Eating would be better, but this was a start at least. "We can just sit here for a while if that's what you want."

A smaller, softer hand than her own dipped down to try to wrap around Rose's waist, but Wisp paused when she felt the hard, growing swell of Rose's baby. Curious eyes flicked back up.

"Yeah, I'm getting fat. I know." Rose pulled up her shirt and pressed Wisp's hand gently against her baby bump. "I'll be fatter soon. I know you don't understand, but there's a baby in there. A little person. In a week or two, you might be able to feel him moving around. Or her. I guess it could be a her. Emmett's dead sure he's getting a boy, though."

Wisp patted her growing belly lightly, then shifted to curl against Rose's side.

"We'll see how you're doing when I'm due. Right now, I think it'd blow your little mind to see a baby being born."

They sat for a while in silence. Rose wasn't very comfortable, but she didn't complain. If Wisp felt secure and safe under the table, they could start with that. She needed to be pushed—gently, yes, but pushed nonetheless—but this was a good starting point.

After fifteen minutes or so, Rose shifted. Her ass was falling asleep, and she was ready to do something else. They had established eye contact, and Wisp had come to her on her own rather than sitting still and unresponsive. "Come on," she said. "Let's see what else we can do."

Wisp did not want to move from under the table, so Rosalie crawled out on her own. She reheated one of the plates of food in the microwave, then returned to Wisp. "Now do you want to eat?"

Wisp did not.

"Come on, kiddo. It's good, I swear." She forked a bite of pasta and popped it in her mouth. Wisp watched, which was more than she'd done for the past four days. It was hard to tell, but Rose thought she might have seen a flicker of interest cross the shadowed little face. "I know you like cheese. Here—try this." She picked up a cluster of parmesan flakes that had melted together and held it toward her.

Wisp looked cautiously at the offering, then flicked her eyes up. Rose wasn't the most patient of people, but she tried to hold still and shut up for a moment as she waited. Wisp looked at the food again, and the tip of her tongue peeked out from between her lips. Her head tipped forward, cautious as her kitten around water, and breathing quickly, she took the morsel from Rose's fingers with her lips.

Rose exhaled and dropped her hand. "Not exactly what I was going for, but I guess it's better than nothing."

Wisp chewed slowly, watching Rose's face as if she was afraid she might be in trouble. Rose stroked her cheek, moving as gently and as slowly as possible. "You need to eat. I don't like this, but we'll call it a starting point, okay?"

She would not eat from a fork, even held in Rose's hand, and pasta was not exactly finger-friendly food, so Rose removed the plate and brought back some crackers, sliced cheese, and raw vegetables. Inspired, she also grabbed a bedsheet from the closet and spread it over the top of the table, creating a secluded little space where they could eat. Pet ducked under the hanging fabric, looking pleased to join the party.

"I bet you never made forts out of sheets and furniture as a kid, did you?" Rose offered her a cracker with a little bit of cheese. Wisp accepted it with her mouth, slightly less hesitant than before. "No reason you can't start now."

They shared the food, Wisp never quite losing that wary look in her eye, as if she thought she might be doing something wrong. Rose pushed Pet away from the cheese several times. It looked to her like Wisp wanted to feed her, but since she refused to take the food in her hand, she wasn't able to.

"Do you like it in here? It's not exactly cozy sitting on tile."

Wisp said nothing, but when Rose cleared the dishes away she didn't seem eager to leave her little fort either.

"Come on, kiddo—it's bathtime. I'd really love not having to crawl back in there to pull you out."

Wisp peered out from the raised flap of sheet Rose held up. Her soft eyes were dubious, and she didn't move.

"Yeah, I get it. You like having a little place where you feel safe. It's normal, probably. I'm not gonna argue about it, anyway—you can go back in there later, if you want. But right now, you have to take a bath."

She coaxed the girl out from under the table, then carried her into the bathroom. Wisp let herself be picked up, pliant and unprotesting as a doll. Though she'd eaten out of Rose's hand, she definitely wasn't back to her usual self. She made no indication that she was either happy or upset about her bath, nor did she attempt to help Rose scrub her skin or wash her hair.

"You know," Rosalie said, "I'm cooking a kid right now. But when he's as big as you, I better not still be bathing his ass. You get a pass because of your circumstances, but I'm not putting up with that shit from a kid of mine."

Wisp did not respond.

While she sat in the hot water, Rose made a call to Esme.

"What's going on?" Esme asked, worried and strained. "Carlisle got a call asking him to get ready, that Emmett and Edward were going to pick him up. Then he was gone and..."

"It's a long story." A _very_ long story. "The girl freaked Edward out and he needs a break, is what it boils down to. I'm staying with her tonight, and if I know Emmett, he's getting him stone-cold drunk as we speak."

"Is that really the best way to handle stress?"

Rose shrugged as she wandered back into the bathroom. Wisp sat quietly in the warm water, looking neither anxious that she'd left nor happy that she was back. "What do you want him to do—take up yoga? He'll be fine. He 's just worn out and he needs a night off."

"Is everything okay? What can I do? Do you need anything?" That was Esme all over—always more than willing to do what she could.

"Actually, I was wondering if you had an air mattress up there."

"Several, I think," Esme said obligingly. "What do you want it for? I'm sure Edward wouldn't mind if you slept in his bed. Or put Wisp there and sleep in hers."

"Come down and see," Rose said with a smile. "It's a surprise for her. I think she'll like it."

When Wisp was dried and dressed once more, Rose brushed out and braided her wet hair in a single plait down her back. This was one thing she would miss if she had a boy rather than a girl. You couldn't play with a little boy's hair like this, even if he kept it long.

Wisp was probably tired, but she gave no indication either way as she sat quietly in what Rose was going to officially start calling her "doll pose"—head down, hands limp in her lap. It was pretty depressing, actually. Rose missed the responsiveness of the girl she'd first met, scared but curious, taking everything in with a soft gleam in her bright eyes. Now things were different. Yes, she'd eaten, but only from Rose's hand, like a pet. She shuddered to think what might happen if she tossed a cracker on the floor.

And she still wasn't talking. She was closed off, a protective wall slammed down between her fragile self and the rest of the world, and Rosalie didn't know any way other than displeasing her to break it. She could get a reaction by doing something she knew Wisp did not like—placing her on a chair, for instance. But it seemed a little cruel, even to her, to keep it up.

"Come on, kiddo," she said when the doorbell rang. "Let's try to have a little fun tonight, okay? I'd love to be able to get a happy reaction out of you."

Esme had a large pile of blue plastic with her, and a pump to inflate it. Wisp gave the objects one brief glance before falling back into her "doll pose."

"Oh no, you don't. We worked hard to get you out of that shell, lady, and you're not going back in." Rose tapped her shoulder firmly, then tilted her head up. "Come on. This is for you."

"Poor thing." Esme's face was a mask of worry. "But you said you got her to eat again. That's something."

"It's important," Rose agreed, "but it's not everything." She helped Esme bring the mattress into the kitchen. It was too big to fit fully under the kitchen table once unfolded, but they did their best. The end stuck out; she doubted that Wisp would care.

Wisp didn't like the noise when they turned on the pump. She flinched back, clapping her hands over her ears and grimacing. Rose was sorry she was uncomfortable, but at least she was responding. Dislike was better than indifference, as far as she was concerned.

Pet disappeared the moment the big, strange object entered the house, and she stayed gone through the inflation process. Wisp watched as if she couldn't help herself, eyes wide, peering at the women as Rose and Esme adjusted the mattress and then brought pillows and blankets down from the upstairs closet. Rose added Wisp's illustrated copy of Peter Pan and a couple of other books, then knelt to the side.

"What do you think, kiddo?"

The girl was silent, but she was looking. She was looking, and Rose would take it. Any interaction at all—any acknowledgement that she was a person, with other people around her—was better than nothing.

"Go on," Esme urged. "Poor girl, you're okay."

Rosalie ducked under the table, into the little cave they'd made up. A sheet and blanket over the air mattress made it much more comfortable than hard tile.

Esme nudged Wisp softly, and the girl shifted forward on her knees, acquiescing to the guiding touch, going where she was led. She crawled into the soft little cave of a space under the table, a little surprised when the air mattress gave gently under her sharp knees. Rose held her breath, but Wisp didn't protest. She obviously didn't see the mattress as furniture.

"Come on, honey." Rosalie beckoned, letting Wisp curl up near her. She drew a blanket over both of them before picking up a book at random. Tom Sawyer. "I know you like reading. Let's just have a quiet night, okay?"

Esme crawled in after them with an armload of snacks, settling down on Wisp's other side. It was snug with two full-grown adults and Wisp under the table, but she nestled down between them as Rose pulled the sheet all the way closed, swathing them in gentle, diffused light. Wisp actually looked calmer than Rose had seen her in days. Not glassy-eyed, not checked-out, but actually calm. She reached over with her mouth to accept the little square of chocolate Esme offered, smiling as the taste hit her tongue.

"I'm worried about the both of them," Esme admitted.

"I don't blame you. But Edward's a resourceful guy. I think he can figure this out as long as he gets his shit together and admits that he needs more help." Rose looked at the girl curled between them. Wisp was very confused; lost in the back-and-forth between her different lives, different selves. It was up to them to help her, to show her that she could shed the chains of her past safely, without fear of ever needing to put them on again.

* * *

_A/N: Like I said, WPOV next time. Baby steps, people! Mwah! Loves you, duckies!_


	32. Chapter 32

A/N: So here it is, as promised: Wisp's POV. Weeeell, actually more like a 3POV omniscience, but let's not quibble, shall we? This chapter is for **mrsedwardcullen73ca**...happy birthday, hon! Mine's on the 19th! I also posted a smutty oneshot a few days ago called Wiegenlied, so you should check it out!

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

Late morning. She can't read the clock by the bedside, but Wisp knows it's later than it should be. Edward always gets them up before the dim light through the blinds looks like this. But he's still asleep under her, and he's making a strange noise when he breathes. In and out. Up and down. Her bladder is full and it hurts.

Urinating is something she's never been required to do only on command, so she slips from the bed and scrambles awkwardly down the stairs on her hands and knees—the only way, as far as she knows, that she's capable of moving on her own.

In the bathroom—dark without Edward to flick on the light for her—she pauses. Rose makes her use the toilet, but Rose isn't here right now.

She uses the box. It's smaller than the one she used to have, at the house with the man with drawings on his arms, but she manages. She also removes the clothing Edward dressed her in. It isn't that she doesn't like the feel of cloth against her skin—in fact, she loves the soft warmth. But her mind is confused. Sometimes she isn't sure where she is, or who might next walk through a door. Edward doesn't care if she wears clothes, but her owner, the man with the drawings on his arms, does.

So does James.

She's terrified of them both, and she has absolutely no trust that they're gone from her life. She isn't sure how she came to be in Edward's little house, and she's half-convinced that one or both of them will come for her at some point. Didn't the tall man with the yellow hair speak to her in the words Father used to use? The ones that made no sense, the ones she was forced to memorize, punished with the switch when she failed? If those words exist in this little house, then the man with the drawings on his arms can, too.

Really, she feels it's only a matter of time. Being here with Edward is too good to last. She doesn't deserve it—doesn't deserve him. She is evil; everyone has always told her so. The voices blur together in her head and she can't quite make out who they come from, or how long it's been since someone spoke directly to her. Certainly her owner, the man with the drawings on his arms, never did.

Did he?

No, she thinks. He didn't. He knew she was bad, and stupid. He had better things to do than talk to her.

She's sure Edward has better things to do, too. Better to let him get on with them. She can be quiet. She can be good. Maybe if she tries very, very hard to behave, he'll keep her, even though she doesn't deserve it.

Edward is the one who helps her wash her hands and face, brush her teeth and hair. Without him or Rose to prompt and help, she doesn't even think about doing it on her own.

Her belly is empty—hungry—but she's used to the gnawing feeling. It's as familiar to her as the aching pain in her knees, so she ignores it.

With no one to give her direction, no one to talk to her, prompt her for this or that response, she has nothing to do. She sits silently in the dark living room for a while. Being alone is something she remembers well from her time with her owner. She has not lost the ability to sink into herself, to tune out everything else so time floats and drifts around her with neither substance nor meaning. Now she attempts to pull that comforting cloak around herself, but something won't let her.

That something is a little ball of black fur.

Pet cries plaintively and paws at her leg, reaching up as if to tap her face with her little black paw. Wisp doesn't know cat language, but to her it's easier than human. She understands from the yearning cries that the cat wants something, and she knows from the time of day what it is. Wisp doesn't remember the last time _she_ ate, but Pet eats every morning and every evening and she's hungry. Edward always feeds her, and she always eats. Wisp knows this. She remembers. Raising a hand, she pets her cat soothingly. It butts its hard head on her hand, pushing velvet ears against her knuckles, mewing insistently. Wisp pets her again, then pauses. She knows what Pet wants, and she can't ignore those big, pleading blue-green eyes. Pet needs her. Pet is counting on her. Pet can't feed herself.

So, though she is afraid it will make Edward angry, she shifts to her hands and knees and crawls back up the stairs to him. She doesn't know why he isn't awake, but she knows that he provides everything—everything she and Pet need, he gives them.

The room is still dark when she enters, and he's still asleep in his bed. She pauses on her knees at the edge, looking at him.

She thinks he's beautiful.

He has flipped onto his stomach, and he's making noises through his nose and mouth that he's never made before. Wisp's forehead draws up in a little frown as she listens. It sounds uncomfortable. His face is damp and almost looks...sticky?

She's afraid to wake him, but Pet is hungry and needs food. Hesitant, nervy, she reaches forward with one finger and pokes his shoulder.

Nothing.

She pokes him harder.

The rhythm of the noises he's making falters, then steadies again.

Wisp chews hard on her lip. It's dry, and she can taste the blood when it cracks. She doesn't know why Edward won't wake up. He always wakes up. He's always here for her when she needs him.

Though she's afraid of angering him, she's more worried that maybe something is wrong. She wraps her little hand around his warm shoulder and pushes, trying to shake him. He's bigger than her and it doesn't work very well.

She settles back on her knees, working her tongue against the sore, stinging crack in her lower lip. A soft whine of worry and frustration leaks from her. She doesn't know how to make decisions for herself; no one has ever asked it of her, or taught her how. It isn't necessary for a life of obedience.

But Pet is hungry. Wisp is very good at keeping track of one thing at a time, and this is it right now. Pet is hungry. Pet is counting on her. Pet _needs_ her. That's why she needs Edward to wake up.

But he doesn't wake up, just continues making those strange noises as he sleeps. She reaches out to touch his pretty face and realizes that his skin is hot—much warmer than it should be. She knows the feel of Edward's skin better, almost, than she knows her own. Where he's smooth and where he's rough, where he's callused or hairy, sensitive or indifferent. She knows the heat of his body bleeding into hers when he holds her, driving away the hazy memories she doesn't want to remember, memories of everything that's happened in her life up until Edward entered it. So she knows very well that he's too hot when her fingers trace over his forehead and cheek, coming to rest against his jawline. She doesn't know what it means, but she has keen senses honed from a lifetime of observing the world rather than participating. He's too hot, and his skin is slick with moisture. He won't wake up, and he's making weird sounds in his sleep.

Wisp bites harder on her lip, and more blood oozes onto her tongue. Her stomach clenches in response. She's worried now, very worried. Something is wrong with Edward, and she doesn't know what it is or what to do about it.

And Pet is still hungry.

The kitten has followed her upstairs and now jumps on the bed, stalking across Edward's back and sniffing at his hair before crying again. Wisp pulls at her long hair, something she's seen Edward do many times. Pet needs food, and Edward won't get up.

Pet cries louder. She jumps off the bed and stands next to Wisp, reaching up with her paws, stretching as if trying to touch her face. Wisp leans down and lets her cat paw at her, toe-pads cool as the kitten pats her cheek and chin. She purses her mouth and kisses. Normally Pet is patient and lets her snuggle, but today she wiggles away, still crying. She wants her food.

Wisp 's brow tightens further. She drops to all fours and crawls several hesitant steps away from the bed. She...loves Pet. Will do anything for Pet. Pet is hungry and needs food.

They make their way back down the stairs, Wisp's forehead still puckered. She is much slower than her cat, who darts forward only to come rushing back, encouraging, leading her toward the kitchen with plaintive mews.

Wisp knows where Pet's dishes are kept, and the cans of cat food. She has watched Edward feed her many times, but before today it never crossed her mind that she could do the same. Now, though, as she pulls a little can from the cupboard under the sink and turns it over in her hands, she can see. Her fingers are like Edward's fingers, not Pet's paws. Pet crawls onto her lap and curls her clawed paw around the can, pulling it toward her, her cries rising in both volume and pitch. But this is all she will ever be able to do with the sealed can. She can't open it to get at the food inside. Edward can, because he has long fingers that can flex and pinch and pull.

Wisp's hands are like Edward's hands. Smaller, paler, and not as strong, but it's the same sort of hand. It is not like Pet's paw.

She takes a deep breath, picking with her short nails at the ring of the pop-top lid. Watching Edward and doing it herself are two very different things and she scowls as she tries to make her fingers obey. They are weak and clumsy, unused to this sort of task. Her short, ragged nails flick at the metal ring. When she finally manages to slide two fingers under the ring, a rough spot of metal catches her knuckle. Skin tears.

"Fuck!"

Instantly, she claps her free hand over her mouth, wide eyes scanning the room. There's no one to hear except Pet, who is still patting at her hand and crying loudly. Slowly she relaxes.

It's a word almost everyone has said around her, but Emmett uses it the most. She has no clue what it means, but the sound of it seems appropriate for how she feels.

It's the first word she's spoken in almost a week.

Wincing, she inspects the wound. Her first two fingers are wedged between the lid and the pop-top ring like a mouse in a trap. It hurts, it pinches, and her knuckle stings where she's bleeding. "Ow," she tells her cat, glancing quickly around the room again. Talking is bad. Talking gets her in trouble. She doesn't remember why—everything before she woke up in this house is hazy and before her owner even more so. But she knows she shouldn't talk.

Pet won't tell on her, though, and there's no one else around to hear.

Pulling back the pop-top ring until the seal on the can breaks is harder than she thought. Pet is frantic, pushing her paws and little black nose close to the can, mewing loudly and getting in the way. Wisp tries to gently push her back, but Pet swipes at her hand with her claws out.

"Ow!" Wisp says again, even though she hasn't broken skin. "Bad Pet!"

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she's remorseful. Pet isn't bad. Pet is hungry. She knows this. It doesn't feel good to be called bad. She knows this, too—all too well.

"Good Pet. Nice Pet." She tries to soothe the hurt, but Pet isn't paying attention to anything except the can.

When Wisp finally tears the metal lid away from the can, drops of cat food juice splatter over her, and Pet, and the floor. The cat yowls one last time and shoves her face into the can, lapping at the brown mush inside. Wisp shudders. She hates this smell. She would rather eat nothing at all than this stuff. She doesn't even want it on her. The sink is too high for her to reach, but she wipes the smelly drops off as much as she can with a dishtowel. "Uck," she tells Pet.

Pet ignores her.

Wisp tries to take the can away so she can put the food in Pet's dish, but the cat swipes at her again and growls, so she lets her be. She only hopes they won't get in trouble for it.

And, even though Pet growled at her, Wisp lets a big smile grow across her face. She helped her kitten. She fed her without Edward. "Good Pet," she says again, because nobody's listening and she can.

Then she remembers Edward. Edward is sleeping when he shouldn't. He won't wake up. He's hot and sticky.

Something is wrong, and she doesn't know what.

Leaving Pet to finish eating, Wisp crawls back up the stairs and into Edward's room. He's still on the bed, still sleeping. When she touches his face, his skin is still too hot. She tries to pull the blankets down to cool him off, but he grabs for them and won't let go. He acts like he's cold, she thinks. But he's not. He's too hot.

Wisp crosses her legs and sits next to the bed. She's good at waiting. She can wait.

But Edward doesn't wake up.

She leaves him when her bladder is full again. The litter box is dirty because Edward hasn't cleaned it. Scowling, full of indecision, she looks back and forth between the full litter box and the toilet. Her owner always cleaned the litter box. Now Edward always cleans the litter box. She has never used a dirty one before. It doesn't smell very good, and she doesn't like the thought of wet litter on her legs.

She pulls herself up to use the toilet.

Afterward, she doesn't quite know what to do. Rose makes her wash her hands, but Rose is not here and she can't reach the sink. Chewing on her sore lip, she looks longingly at the bathtub. She likes baths. They're warm, and they make her body feel soft and loose. She likes that Edward gives her a bath every day; she likes being clean.

Her mouth doesn't feel so clean, but she can't reach the little brush Edward uses on her teeth. It sits in a little cup next to the sink.

Wisp does not think about the future. She tries not to think about the past. All she has is the here and now. It doesn't occur to her to worry about what might happen if Edward never wakes up. All she knows is that, right now, he is asleep.

And she is worried.

The light coming through the windows is fading when she returns to him. He still sounds strange. Her delicate eyebrows knit together as she watches him. He doesn't look peaceful.

Something is wrong.

Reaching up on her knees, Wisp nudges her nose against his. He twitches, so she does it again. His skin is unpleasantly hot and damp and his breath smells, but this is Edward. She presses her lips to his forehead.

The need to wake him finally overpowers her fear of punishment. With a deep breath, she opens her mouth. "Edward?"

Nothing.

A little louder: "Edward?" She tries shaking him again, too.

He groans and she pulls away quickly, dark eyes darting over his face in the shadowy room. His eyes blink, then scrunch up tight. A quiet moan, almost a whimper, leaves him.

She doesn't know what's wrong, but Wisp knows that sound. Has known it for...a long time. It's a sound she's made many times before.

Edward shifts in the bed. At first he's clumsy with sleep, but then his spine stiffens. His shoulders jerk, and he's on his feet and crossing the room so quickly that Wisp shrinks back. He crumples to his knees, legs giving out, and vomits in the little trash can.

Wisp huddles into herself. Edward is the strong one. Edward takes care of her. She doesn't know what to do when he can't.

When he stops heaving, Edward drops his head toward the rim of the trash can. He sways on his knees—his head bobs, as if his body can't support it. Her eyes widen. She knows this feeling, knows what it's like to be exhausted and weak, head spinning, stomach heaving. She understands.

Edward drags himself back into bed with a low groan of pain. Wisp doesn't think he's seen her. She's never been good at making decisions—she doesn't know how—but now as she looks at Edward, she wants to. Her sense of self-efficacy is nonexistent, but in this moment it doesn't matter. She's not thinking about what she can and can't do.

She's thinking of Edward.

Scrambling down the stairs faster than she's moved all day, she crawls back into the bathroom. The washcloth Edward uses to bathe her hangs over the edge of the tub. She can't reach the sink, but she can reach the bathtub knobs. She twists, just like she's seen Edward do, and is rewarded by the hissing sound of water in the pipes. It spills over her outstretched hand and washcloth, cold rather than warm, but she doesn't care. She remembers what it is like to feel the way Edward looks, and it doesn't occur to her that he might not want the same things she wanted. Determined to help him any way she can, Wisp makes her lopsided way back up the stairs, holding the washcloth up with one hand. She squeezed water out of it, but it's still dripping a little.

Pet is upstairs, and she eyes the wet cloth warily. Wisp doesn't mind. She's intent on Edward.

He's asleep again, or, at least, his eyes are closed. Wisp sits up and gathers the washcloth in her hand. She brings it close and dabs the cool wetness on his damp forehead.

Edward twitches, but doesn't wake. He's on his back, head turned to the side. Gently, as gently as she strokes Pet, she draws the washcloth over his face. She wipes his mouth, his jaw, tracing rough stubble down until it bleeds into smooth skin. Even like this, she thinks he's the most beautiful person she's ever seen.

"Edward," she says, his name a little sigh. She doesn't want to wake him. It just feels good to say it, to hear her most favorite word. No one else can hear it. She hopes she's safe. Edward has taken care of her since he found her. Now, she decides, she will take care of him.

The night is long.

Wisp doesn't sleep.

She pushes the trash can up next to the bed in case Edward needs it again.

He does.

Wisp wishes she could clean it out for him, but she has no idea where the mess should go. She wipes his face with the damp washcloth each time he retches—he's not bringing anything up but bile anymore. Her stomach twists and curls in on itself in hunger, and while she doesn't feed herself, she remembers to feed Pet again. This time she doesn't cut herself, though Pet still won't wait for the food to go in the dish.

If Pet is hungry, Wisp thinks, maybe Edward is hungry, too. Or will be. He didn't eat at all, and it is night again.

She can't reach the upper cabinets that hold human food, but she manages to pry open the refrigerator. She finds an apple in the crisper and some cheese in a low drawer—these are foods she is familiar with. Hugging them to her chest, she makes her way back upstairs and puts them on the little table next to Edward's bed, where he will see them when he wakes up.

Then she waits.

Wisp has always had superhuman patience. It's something she learned young.

For the first time, she's feeling its opposite. She's restless, consumed by worry. Edward is her sun, the center of her world. She needs him to wake up and be okay. She needs him to look at her and smile, to talk to Rose in long strings of words she doesn't understand, just so she can hear his voice. She'll be good, she promises him silently. She'll do whatever he wants, as long as he wakes up. There's a hollowness inside her that she can't name, a feeling both familiar and unfamiliar at once.

Loneliness.

She doesn't know the word, but she definitely recognizes how it feels.

And because she's lonely, because she misses him, Wisp bites her lip hard and pulls herself up slowly—cautious as a deer in a meadow—until she's kneeling beside him on the bed. It's a foreign feeling and she doesn't like it, but there's no one here to stop her and she wants to be close to him. Usually she sleeps on top of him, wrapped in his arms, but she's afraid tonight to hurt him. So, trying to disturb Edward as little as possible, she curls up against his side. His body leaks heat as she settles in to watch...and wait.

* * *

The next morning is well underway when Rose appears. She blinks at Wisp, seated alone in the living room, sucking on the knuckle she's torn open again trying to feed Pet. Rose says something; the only word that registers to Wisp is _Edward_. She doesn't know what Rose wants, but Edward is upstairs still, sleeping. She points.

Rose walks faster than Wisp can crawl up the stairs. Wisp hears irritation in her voice when she says something, but when she pokes her head into the room, Rose is bent over Edward's sleeping form with a hand on his forehead. A moment later she pulls a black rectangle out of her pocket and holds it near her ear. She talks into it; the only word Wisp recognizes is _Esme_.

When Rose puts the shiny black thing away, she kneels next to Wisp. Her hands are soft and cool as she palms her cheeks and forehead, and Wisp basks in the touch. She's been alone for...a while. Time has very little meaning for her, but she knows she's glad that Rose is here. Maybe Rose will know how to help Edward. She knows a lot. She talks softly, looking in Wisp's eyes and stroking her cheek. It doesn't matter what she's saying; Wisp is just glad of the companionship. She sighs happily and, when Rose offers, lets herself be picked up.

She takes Wisp back downstairs and begins filling the bathtub. Wisp makes a happy noise—she loves the hot water and her body is tense and tired after spending the night awake, listening to Edward's hoarse breathing. She's so excited that she crawls into the tub on her own—she's already naked—and is relieved to hear Rose's chuckle.

The front door opens while Rose is bathing her, and Esme appears in the bathroom. Wisp likes Esme. She's gentle and quiet; she doesn't make loud noises or move too fast. Her voice is always soft. She talks with Rose for a moment, then heads upstairs. Wisp can hear her steps on the stairs.

It's a quick bath, which Wisp doesn't particularly like, but she's very tired. Her eyes are heavy, and her head nods toward her chest as Rose helps her into clean, soft clothes. She trusts Rose and Esme. They will help Edward; she's sure of it. Exhaustion seeps in as worry recedes.

Rose sets her on the counter in the kitchen and gives her a glass of water. Wisp drinks it all. Her stomach feels a little better, but it still growls. Rose says something, then offers her a granola bar from the cupboard.

Wisp looks at the food, then up at Rose. She's not sure she should take it. Her owner punished her badly for eating human food. He gave her food like Pet eats, and not often. He liked her to feel hungry.

But Rose isn't like that. Edward isn't like that. They let her bathe in warm water, and give her food that doesn't make her stomach hurt. They talk to her, and she doesn't understand most of the words but neither does she care. It's the interaction she craves—simple human contact.

Slowly, Wisp reaches out her hand. She curls her fingers around the open foil package and draws it close, hugging it to her chest, brown eyes wide.

Rose's smile lights up her lovely face, and she cups Wisp's face in her hands, squeezing gently for a moment. She speaks; Wisp doesn't understand the words, but she thinks the voice is happy. _Good girl_. Two words slip through and take root in her mind. Warmth fills her. These words she knows. They mean she's done something right. She's so glad that Rose is happy with her.

Rose picks her up again and settles her on the kitchen floor near the little cave they made out of the table and some sheets. She draws back the covering a little, revealing the soft darkness where Wisp fell asleep not last night, but the night before.

Wisp looks inside, then at Rose. "Edward?" The word slips out before she can stop it. She isn't used to falling asleep without Edward, but he's upstairs with Esme.

Rose smiles again. Her voice is gentle as she talks. She urges Wisp into the cozy space with a soft nudge, and Wisp goes. Rose and Esme will take care of Edward. She yawns and curls up on the air mattress, nestling into the pile of blankets. She likes it in here. It's warm and close. Rose leaves the sheet open just a crack, so Wisp can see out. Pet pokes her head in the crack, then wiggles under the sheet and flops down by her side.

Wisp falls asleep with one hand on her kitten, the other still clutching the granola bar tightly.

* * *

_A/N: So there you have it! Rose will explain more in the next chapter. No freaking out about Edward - he's actually sick (not just a hangover) but he's gonna be fine. Pinky swear. Have fun at the movie in the next few days, yall! Mwah!_


	33. Chapter 33

_A/N: So, this update is for **Packy Pie's** birthday today (Sunday) and my birthday tomorrow (Monday). I love you, almost-twin!_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

Leaving Wisp to a mostly-sober Edward was one of the hardest things Rose had done in a while. It wasn't that she thought Edward would hurt or mistreat her, even buzzed. But she had no way of knowing what sort of mood he was in, other than just plain exhausted. He swore he was fine, and Rosalie had to accept that. He was a grown man. She couldn't question his decisions at every turn. Besides, she had to work in the morning and she was only going to get a few hours' sleep as it was. So, though she wasn't happy about it, Rose kissed Wisp's forehead softly before accompanying Esme out of the cabin.

She'd wanted to check in on them the next day, but the shop was too busy for her to do more than give Edward a quick call, which he didn't return. That evening, Emmett advised her against going over.

"You're going to see them tomorrow anyway," he reasoned. "Dudes don't like it when they feel pressure."

Yeah, Rose knew that. Emmett put up with her, but he was an incredibly low-key person. Very few things really irritated him. His ability to shrug off her moods was one of the things she loved most about him.

So she listened to him this time and refrained from bothering Edward until around ten the next morning, when she would normally show up to give him a break.

The house was quiet, which wasn't unusual. Edward was not a loud man, and Wisp was near silent. She pushed the door open, unsurprised to find it unlocked, and slipped inside.

The living room was dark, which _was_ unusual. Edward always liked to open the drapes in the morning, regardless of the weather.

As her eyes adjusted, Rosalie found herself looking at a naked Wisp, alone in the room. She was kneeling on the floor, sucking at one of her knuckles. There was a strange, stale smell to the house, and Wisp's hair was snarled and matted.

"Honey," Rose said, quickly kneeling by her, "what's going on?" An uneasy feeling quivered in her stomach. Where was Edward? He never left Wisp alone unless he was in the bathroom, and she could tell from the open door that he wasn't. "Wisp, where's Edward?"

Rose didn't really expect an answer, so she was both surprised and immensely proud when Wisp raised her arm and pointed solemnly up the stairs. Good girl. She might not be talking, but at least she was communicating. Eye contact. Making an effort. She promised to reward her with something special just as soon as she ripped Edward a new one. What the hell was he thinking, leaving Wisp to her own devices? She'd hurt herself—Rose could see the jagged, bloody scrape on her knuckle that needed to be tended to. And why was her hair tangled, her body both naked and unwashed? Rose knew Wisp had started removing her clothes when Edward looked away for a moment so she guessed that one wasn't his fault. But still. What the hell was he doing? He'd agreed to take care of this girl. He needed to step up and do it.

She climbed the stairs, stomach churning with all the words she planned to say to him, and turned into his dark bedroom.

The pungent, sour smells of sweat and vomit hit her as soon as she stepped through the open doorway. Edward was in bed, curled tightly into his blankets as if he were freezing. The trash can by his side was full, and his face was bathed in sweat. He did not look peaceful in the slightest.

Though she didn't really need to, Rosalie put the back of her hand to his forehead. Yes, he was definitely hot. Very hot. Knowing he was sick made her feel maybe—_maybe_—a little sorry for the nasty things she'd been thinking earlier. The man had been running himself ragged, physically and emotionally, since discovering Wisp. Sitting out in the rain for however long he'd been out there probably hadn't helped, nor had the alcohol Emmett had happily plied him with.

The soft noise of knees on carpet made her turn. Wisp knelt in the doorway, her dark eyes big and pleading. She knew something was wrong.

Edward needed help. That was clear enough. But he wasn't Rose's boyfriend, or her child. She drew the line at tending to his sick ass. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she found Esme's number.

"Rose! Good morning, honey. Are you at Edward's? How are things? I wanted to check on him yesterday, but I had a client meeting that dragged on and on..."

"Yeah, I'm here," Rose said. "He's pretty sick, actually—not doing so well at all. Someone needs to take care of Wisp, too. It looks like she's been more or less alone for the past day. Could you—"

"I'll be right there," Esme promised. "Don't worry about him. I knew something like this was going to happen eventually."

Yeah, so did Rose.

She ended the call, then turned to look at Wisp again. "Well, since Edward's out of commission, looks like it's you and me today. Esme's coming over to help him." She offered Wisp her arms, and was relieved when the girl allowed herself to be picked up. It was a little weird, had always been a little weird, touching her when she was naked, but Wisp did not seem fazed. It was as if, just as Edward suggested, she was used to living without clothes.

Once in the bathroom, Rose took the opportunity to study Wisp in better light. Though wide with worry, her eyes were sunken and glassy, surrounded by dark smudges. She was obviously exhausted. "Didn't you sleep, sweetheart?" she asked. "Oh, hon."

She'd been using the litter box; that much was obvious. Rose started the water for a bath, and smiled with true gladness when Wisp eagerly crawled over the lip of the tub and into it by herself. "You're a brave girl," she said. "Whatever's been happening in your head, I know you'll be able to fight it. I have faith in you." She cleaned out the litter box without complaint, then washed her hands before returning to Wisp.

The washcloth was missing, but Rose didn't think too much of it. She grabbed a new one from a drawer, then started at Wisp's toes. The girl seemed to be in heaven. She relaxed into the warm water, a visible shiver echoing up her spine as the heat seeped into her body. It had to be cold and uncomfortable, Rose thought, going without clothes. The weather was awful, and though Edward kept the cabin fairly livable, livable in a sweater and jeans wasn't the same as livable in a birthday suit. Plus, Wisp had absolutely no body fat to speak of, no insulation against the chill as winter slowly settled around Forks.

"I really don't know what to do," Rose told the girl as she inspected the cut on her knuckle. "Part of me wants to turn the heat up so you'll be comfortable. Another part of me wants to keep it cold, in case it helps you decide to keep your clothes on."

"Rosalie?"

Esme's voice sounded from the living room, and a moment later the older woman poked her head around the bathroom door. "Oh, there you are. I just wanted to check in before I go up to Edward. How is she?"

"Exhausted," Rose said. "She knows something's wrong, and she's worried. I think she stayed up all night. I'm going to get her clean, try to get some food in her, and then see if she'll sleep."

"Good call. Poor thing." Esme tsked. "Let me know if there's anything you need. As soon as I get Edward settled, I'll probably run to the store."

"I think we're fine," Rose said, "but thank you."

Esme left, and Rose stroked Wisp's face with the damp washcloth, carefully clearing away any last traces of soap. "I can see how tired you are," she said, smiling as Wisp grinned when the cloth tickled her ear. "You're probably dehydrated, too. I'd love it if you would eat for me again. I'd love it even more if you did it by yourself. This hand-feeding thing isn't a long-term solution."

She was small and warm, just a tired girl taking comfort in the simple routine of a bath. Rose was careful as she ran a comb through the long, wet hair, easing out snarls as gently as she could. Hair as long and fine as Wisp's needed daily care. It developed tangles quickly—though the individual hairs were soft and fine as silk, she had a lot of them. Rosalie wondered if Edward would learn to braid—or,better yet, if she could teach Wisp. It would make caring for her hair much easier.

Rose wasn't too worried about Edward. Esme could care for him now and, if something was seriously wrong, Carlisle and Jasper were only a phone call away. He must be feeling pretty out of it though, she figured, if he'd neglected Wisp. She was the first thing in his thoughts every morning, and probably the last at night, too. His world revolved around her. Now that she was calmer and thinking clearly, Rose admitted to herself that she never really thought Edward would ignore Wisp's needs. Not on purpose. He just wasn't that sort of person.

When she unplugged the tub and let the water out, Wisp sighed. "I know," Rose said, "I know. You like to sit and soak. I promise, you can soak later—I'll even take you back to my house and you can use the hot tub. But I want you to sleep right now."

She went upstairs to fetch pajamas for the girl, peeking into Edward's room for a moment. The window was cracked open despite the chilly rain, and it smelled much better.

When Wisp was dried and dressed, her hair braided once more down her back, Rosalie carried her to the kitchen. She consented to sit on the kitchen counter, and when offered a glass of water she drank it all. Poor thing. If Edward really was so sick it wasn't his fault, but Wisp needed someone looking out for her daily. It was clear that she wouldn't or couldn't do it for herself.

Wisp was quiet as Rose looked through the cupboards, trying to find something quick and simple that the girl could eat. A granola bar seemed easiest—she knew Wisp liked the sticky, chewy little bars. Realistically they were probably no better than a candy bar despite the Quaker Oat guy on the package, but she really didn't care right now. Some food in Wisp's belly was all she wanted.

"Come on," she said, tearing open the package and holding it out to the girl. Wisp couldn't simply take it with her mouth as she had the other night. "Please, honey? I can't imagine how hungry you must be." Unless Wisp had eaten something on her own—which Rose doubted—she hadn't had anything to eat for something like thirty-six hours, and nothing for three days before that. It wasn't healthy, especially for such a delicate, malnourished body.

Wisp looked at the shiny, open wrapper with those huge eyes of hers, and Rose swore she could see the wheels turning in her head—the questions, the dilemma of whether she would take the food or not. She chewed on her poor ragged lip, flicked her eyes up to Rose's, and slowly reached out for the bar.

Relief. Rosalie held in the urge to squeeze her in a hug—she wasn't Alice, after all, and she didn't want to scare her. "Yeah, you're a brave one," she said instead, patting her cheek before picking her up and depositing her in front of the fort they'd made with sheets and blankets and an air mattress. Wisp obviously could not sleep with Edward right now, and she refused to sleep in a bed alone. The air mattress didn't seem to bother her, though, so it seemed like the best place for her to nap...if she would.

Wisp peered into the dark little cave of a space, then looked up at Rose. "Edward?"

Rose exhaled a slow breath. A word. Her first word, that she knew of, in close to a week. Even though it was just Edward's name, it felt like so much more. It _was_ so much more for this girl. Whatever demons she was fighting in her head, she wasn't giving up.

"Esme will take care of Edward." She nudged Wisp gently and the girl obeyed, crawling slowly onto the air mattress and curling up in the nest of pillows and blankets. Her little black cat appeared from nowhere and clambered in, too, making herself at home. Rose didn't stop her, even though she wasn't sure about cat claws on an air mattress. It wasn't worth upsetting Wisp if she might actually sleep.

After getting Wisp settled, Rose took a good look around the kitchen. She wasn't a huge fan of being domestic, all evidence to the contrary. And she wasn't terribly enthusiastic about cleaning up a mess that wasn't hers or Emmett's. But Wisp needed her. Edward was out of commission, and Wisp needed her. It was a need she couldn't ignore.

The kitchen looked almost exactly how she remembered leaving it the other night—few dishes in the dishwasher, no cupboards disturbed to show that Wisp had been in them. The only signs of use were the empty cat food cans and discarded lids on the floor.

"You smart girl," she murmured, smiling to herself. Wisp had taken some initiative. She'd seen that Edward was out of commission, and she'd done what she had to do to care for her kitten. She'd even gathered the empty cans and lids into a small pile, probably trying to be neat. Rose rinsed the cans out and put them in the recycling bin, checked to see if anything in the bathroom needed cleaning, and then headed upstairs.

"Put me to work," she told Esme, who shot her a relieved look. "How is he?"

"He woke up enough for me to take his temperature—he doesn't need to go to the hospital or anything, but it's pretty high. I wiped him down with cold water and he didn't like it. Said he was cold."

Rose glanced around the room. The dirty trash can had been removed, replaced at the side of the bed by a large, empty bowl. Edward looked like he was sleeping.

"Cheese isn't the best food for an upset stomach." Rose motioned to the nightstand, where an apple and a block of cheddar sat.

Esme grinned with a fierce sort of pride that took Rose by surprise. "I didn't bring it up and I don't think Edward's able to get down the stairs right now."

The realization hit Rose, and she echoed Esme's smile. "Wisp."

"Wisp," Esme said with a nod. "It had to be. I found a damp washcloth up here, too."

"She fed Pet, too," Rose said. Such a brave girl. She couldn't imagine how frightened Wisp had to be, stuck in the house with nobody to help her. But it was a major achievement, too, as far as she was concerned. Wisp had shown deep compassion and understanding. She knew Edward was sick. She tried her best to care for him—bringing him food and a wet cloth—and had provided for Pet, as well. She hadn't done anything for herself but...that was maybe a little much to expect. She was making eye contact again. She'd taken the granola bar with her hand, though Rose acknowledged that she hadn't actually seen her eat it.

"She spoke," she told Esme. "She said Edward's name."

"Good girl." The pride in Esme's voice grew. "I knew she could do it."

Rose agreed. "She's sleeping right now—I don't think she slept at all last night—but when she wakes up, I was thinking about taking her to my place. While Edward is under the weather."

"Oh, would you?" The look Esme gave her was full of gratitude. "I don't mind caring for them both, but I don't want her catching whatever he has."

"Realistically, if she's going to get it, she's probably already incubating."

"Still. I'm going to put in a call to Carlisle. I'm sure this is just a nasty virus, but it's better to be safe."

A _seriously_ nasty virus. Rose shuddered to think what it could do to the delicate, emaciated girl if it hit Edward so hard.

There wasn't anything to do upstairs, so Rose went back down and checked on Wisp. She was asleep, curled on her side amid the blankets. Pet was a black ball of fur wedged tight against her belly. She still had her clothes on—progress—but she had not eaten the granola bar. Biting back disappointment, Rose leaned in to take it from her hand.

With a jerk, Wisp startled awake. She cried out wordlessly, her hand closing reflexively around the food.

Rose immediately let go, a little jarred herself. "I'm not going to take it away from you if you eat it," she said. "I just don't want that sticky stuff getting all over you or the blankets."

Wisp's lower lip quivered. She hugged the open granola bar to her chest, looking up at Rose with emotions Rose couldn't begin to understand swimming in those big brown eyes.

"Okay," she said, "okay. Enough with the Bambi eyes, kiddo. I won't take anything away from you. Don't look at me like I just shot your mother."

A strange, wistful look crossed the girl's face. It was...it wasn't sharp, like the sting of a recently felt or obliterating loss. It was more like...more like the acknowledgement of something never had to begin with. "M-mother?" It sounded like she was sounding it out, testing the weight of the word in her mouth.

"A mother is...oh, hell. We read about this in Peter Pan, remember?" Now tasked with explaining the concept of motherhood, Rose could appreciate a little better how the Lost Boys could get the concept so right and so wrong at the same time. "Fuck. Okay. C'mon, this could take a while."

Wisp readily followed her up the stairs, into her little room where the books Esme brought down now sat on a low shelf. Scanning through the titles, she selected an illustrated version of _Little Lord Fauntleroy_ and pulled it down, leafing through it. Wisp curled up next to her, leaning on her leg, watching the pages as they turned.

"Here," Rose said, pausing at an illustration of the boy embracing his mother. "Look. That's a mother. It's...well." She frowned. How to explain an intangible concept that was so simple, yet so complicated at the same time? "A mother, I guess at her most basic, is a woman with a child, or children. I'm going to be one pretty soon, but let's leave _that_ for a separate discussion."

"Mother."

Wisp stared at the illustration in the book—a simple drawing, or was it a woodcut? Rose didn't really know the difference. In any case, it was a drawing of a woman with big skirts and a little cap embracing a small boy in short trousers. Her expression was serene, like any good mother in Victorian fiction, the boy's blissful.

"You have a mother," Rose said softly. She was a little afraid to talk too loud and frighten the girl. "Or, you did, once. Everyone does. Do you remember her?"

Wisp did not respond. Her fingertips skimmed reverently across the drawing, dark eyes huge and fixed on the inked figures. "Mother."

"Yes." Rose found herself almost whispering. She had no idea why. "I'm sure your mother loved you as much as she was able. Sometimes things happen—Edward's mother, for instance, couldn't take care of him. She loved him enough to give him to Esme, because she wanted him to have a better life than she could provide. My mom—well, she was embarrassed after everything that happened with Royce. She'd welcomed him into the family, you see. She was always pestering me about setting a date, getting married, having kids. Afterward, she didn't know how to talk to me. I know she still loves me; I do. But it's easier for both of us to live our lives separately."

Rosalie looked at the girl huddled over the book in her lap. She was small and slight, the shape of her body lost inside her thick, roomy clothes. Once, Rose thought, _someone_ had had to care for her. Love her. Maybe it was a long time ago, but Wisp did have a mother at one point. Where was she now? Was she dead? In jail? Did she ever think about her little girl, wonder what happened to her? How long had they been separated? Was she a good mother in bad circumstances? What went wrong—what had happened?

"But, you know, mothers aren't just made by blood. There's something else there, something special. I won't say men can't be nurturing because, I mean, look at Edward. But there's something different about the way a woman cares for a child. Biology doesn't matter. It's...maybe the most important relationship we can have."

"Mother?"

The hesitant question in Wisp's voice echoed the question in her eyes. Rosalie knew exactly what she was asking and she hated to crush that hope, but she wasn't the girl's mother, nor was she prepared to take on the task. She had her own baby to think of, who would soon be born. "No, baby girl," she said softly, shaking her head. "I'm not your mother. I'm sorry. But I can be your friend. I'd like that very much."

Wisp's eyes dropped. She understood well enough what Rose meant.

"Hey. Don't be like that. Nothing's going to change, kiddo. I'm here for you. It's just...a mother is more than that. It doesn't really matter that you don't understand the words, because I don't know how to explain it. Moms are...they're more than just a peanut butter sandwich and clean clothes for school. More than a push on a swing, more than a voice that reads or sings you to sleep. Edward could explain it with big technical words, I'm sure."

"Hey. Mind if I cut in?" Esme knelt beside them.

Rose waved her on.

"Mother?" Wisp asked, even more hesitant this time, as if she didn't hold out much hope for a positive answer.

Esme offered her arms without words. Wisp sucked her lip into her mouth, looking about as unsure as Rose had ever seen her. She pushed away from Rose's knee, slowly moving forward. Esme was smaller than Rosalie but bigger than Wisp, and she drew the girl close, nestling her in her arms. "I'm Edward's mother," she said, smoothing a hand over the girl's warm cheek, brushing the fine hairs away from her face. "He came to me much like you did—small and scared, in need of a place to belong. Carlisle and I took him in because it was the right thing to do, but also because we have so much love, sweetheart; more than enough to share. That's the wonderful thing about families. There's no need to make these distinctions, to put labels on every relationship. What matters is that you're part of this family now. You're a Cullen, and we love you." She dipped her head, pressing her forehead against Wisp's. "You sweet thing, how could we not?"

"Mother?" Wisp persisted, one hand holding Esme's sleeve.

Esme exhaled, and her mouth turned up in a gentle smile. "Yes," she said, "if you like. If you need the distinction, I can be that for you."

Wisp seemed to understand the _yes_, if nothing else. She wrapped her arms around Esme and held on tightly.

* * *

Later, Rose volunteered to make a run to the store since Wisp had fallen asleep with her head pillowed in Esme's lap, a look of blissful serenity on her face. There was plenty of food in the cabin, and Esme said she could run up to the big house later if there was anything they needed. Rather, Rose stocked up the medicine cabinet. Band-Aids—Wisp seemed to go through a lot of them—and various things to settle stomachs and bring down fevers. She grabbed bottles of sports drink for the electrolytes, then headed back to Edward's.

Esme had moved Wisp to her little bed, and she apparently hadn't woken enough to put up a fight about it. Rose poked her head in the doorway of Edward's darkened room, watching as Esme wiped his face with a cool cloth. "How's he doing?"

Esme shrugged. "Sleeping. I guess that's as much as we should expect right now. I'm sure it'll take a few days, at least, to bring the fever down."

"Heard from Carlisle?"

"Not yet, but I wouldn't expect to." She smiled and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her so Edward could rest. "I almost melted when she asked me to be her mother."

"I'm not sure she quite knew what she was talking about."

"Probably not," Esme agreed, "but it was still sweet. I wonder about her mother, you know?"

"I do, too." Rosalie put her hands to her belly. "Hard not to."

"I imagine just about everything goes back to that for you right now." Esme stretched, then beckoned Rose downstairs, where she set the kettle on the stove for tea. "I always wanted that experience—being pregnant, having a baby of my own. But then Edward came to us, and..." She shrugged. "I'm content. He's everything Carlisle and I could have asked for."

"You're both amazing people." Rose spoke with honesty. Plenty of people faced with the same decision wouldn't have stepped up, nor been as successful as Esme and Carlisle were with Edward.

"I don't know about that. We're both dedicated, and we knew from the start that we wanted Edward to be not just our son, but his own person, however that manifested. Now that he's brought that little girl into our lives, how can we change our minds?" She poured water into two mugs and popped in teabags. Rose breathed deeply—peppermint. The smell was soothing. "I just can't imagine how many people must have turned their backs on her—or just pretended not to see what was going on."

"Wherever her mother is, I can't imagine she'd be happy or even indifferent about how her daughter ended up." Rose took a seat on the couch. She aimed to take Wisp home with her, but she wanted the girl to sleep first. "Do you think we'll ever find her?"

Esme took a sip, staring at nothing. "I don't know. If we do, I think she'll have a lot to answer for."

* * *

Wisp made it very clear when she woke that leaving the house without Edward was absolutely not going to happen. There was obvious trust and affection for both Esme and Rose, but she drew the line at going out that door with anyone who wasn't Edward. Rosalie tried several different tactics, but in the end it did no good. Either Wisp was staying or Edward was going.

Not that it mattered much when, a day and a half later, Edward conscious but still sick as a dog, Wisp's temperature spiked. Esme firmly sent Rose away, saying that it wasn't safe for her to stick around with a virus this nasty while she was pregnant. Rose's argument that if she was going to get it she already had it, fell on deaf ears, and Esme shooed her out of the cabin. She had Carlisle's help, she said; Rose didn't need to risk it.

Edward fretted about Wisp from the moment he was lucid enough to understand that he'd left her alone in the house with no one to care for her. Esme tried her best to assuage his guilt, which only deepened when he heard that the girl was sick, too. He fought his way out of bed enough times that Esme finally had Carlisle bring the air mattress up from the kitchen and made a bed for Wisp on the floor of Edward's room, where he could see her.

She wasn't well.

Her temperature rose and rose, and each time they notified Jasper he sounded more and more worried. Edward had been still in bed, still and mostly silent, but Wisp was not. She thrashed and cried out, her exhausted body shaking with tremors, fluid she couldn't afford to lose leaking from her in sweat and heaves. Edward confirmed that he had hallucinated during his fever, and they could only guess at the dark visions Wisp's fevered mind was producing for her as she twisted herself up in her blankets, then cried as the cloth trapped her legs and she couldn't move.

She was near-silent while lucid, but in the throes of her dreams, she made noise. Lots of noise.

Most of it wasn't speech—cries, whimpers, even a squeal when Esme touched her heated skin too quickly with a cool, damp cloth. But words leaked from her dry, cracked lips, too. Nonsensical words. Syllables strung together in ways they weren't meant to be, stuttered sounds that should have been speech, but weren't.

And then, sometimes, they were.

The real words unnerved Esme the most.

"Darkdarkdarkdarkdarkdarkdark dark..." Wisp slurred, panting, spitting out the water Esme tried to tip into her mouth. "No! Nonononononononono!"

"Sweetheart, you have to drink. Come on, baby." She stroked the flaming forehead, moving sweaty wisps of hair away from her face. "For me? Please?"

"Bad!" Wisp insisted. Her eyes were open, but Esme wasn't fooled into thinking she was actually awake. Not really. Whatever those glassy eyes saw, it wasn't the gentle shadows of Edward's bedroom. "_Yea, they sacrificed their sons and their daughters unto devils, and shed innocent blood, even the blood of their sons and of their daughters, whom they sacrificed unto the idols of Canaan: and the land was polluted with blood._" Her body heaved and tried to retch, but there was nothing left in her. "Bloodbloodbloodbloodblood..."

"Wisp, baby. Please, listen to me," Esme begged. Both Carlisle and Jasper had warned that if she didn't come around soon, she'd have to go to the hospital. She wasn't keeping down water or medicine, and her poor, delicate body just couldn't take it. "Just a sip, sweetheart. I know you don't want to go to the hospital. I know you want to stay here."

"Stay," Wisp mumbled. A low, panting whimper left her lips. They bled, and she licked at the red moisture. "Stay. Bad! Daddy!" The last word was a keening plea, and she reached a shaking arm out as if to grasp hold of something that wasn't there.

"Daddy?" Esme leaned further over her. "Shhh, sweetheart, you're fine. Edward and I are right here. What about daddy?"

"Daddy," Wisp whimpered again. She went slack, not relaxing, but as if her body had just...given up. Shallow, panting breaths moved her chest up and down. She blinked once, twice, then turned her sunken eyes and looked at Esme—something she hadn't done since she fell ill.

"Baby," Esme said. "Baby, are you okay?" She lowered her head over Wisp's limp form, keeping a hand on the hot cheek. Did the girl know what she was saying? Where she was? It was impossible to tell. "What about daddy, baby?"

Wisp's eyes blinked. Her breath was hot as it left her mouth. Esme knew as she looked at her that the girl needed to go to the hospital. They couldn't help her here anymore. She was dangerously dehydrated, and her fever needed to break.

"Edward," she said softly.

"Yeah." His voice held his own exhaustion, and also the wrenching pain of his inability to help her. "I know. Go ahead."

"I'll call Carlisle."

"Bad," Wisp murmured, her body still, her head shifting slowly on her pillow. "Daddy. Daddy said."

"Your daddy said you were bad?" Esme paused, phone in her hand. "It's not true, sweetheart. You're our good, sweet girl."

"Bad," she said again. Her eyelids fluttered. She licked the bloody crack in her lower lip again. "Bad Isabella."

* * *

_A/N: Till next time, duckies! Mwah!_


	34. Chapter 34

A/N: Hi all! So, yes, my update schedule was interrupted by a trip to the hospital - more than one, actually, but it's a long story. Suffice to say, in case anyone was still pondering the unanswerable, life imitates art, not the other way around. You're welcome. ;-)

Public Lovin' Contest voting is still going on, so go vote! My entry is called Wiegenlied, and you can find it on my profile if you haven't read it yet. I'll be doing a second chapter once the contest is over, at the behest of luvrofink.

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

Carlisle arrived a short while later.

Edward sat on the edge of his bed, swaying slightly, sagging as he propped himself up on his arms. "Please be gentle," he begged. "She's not going to like this."

"No one is going to hurt her, and we'll do our best not to scare her either." Carlisle put a hand on his son's shoulder. "I know you want to be with her. We won't leave her there a moment more than necessary, I promise."

And that had to be good enough, because Edward wasn't going anywhere in his current condition. His fever had broken, but his body wasn't up for anything more strenuous than limping down the stairs to the bathroom and back.

Edward watched as Carlisle slipped his arms under the girl and lifted, pulling her against his chest with infinite care. She struggled weakly, incoherent sounds spilling from her mouth, but her small, emaciated body was no match for a healthy, grown man.

"Easy. It's okay. We're going to help you." It was Carlisle's doctor voice. Edward hoped that, at least on some level, Wisp understood.

"Go with him?" he pleaded, watching Esme.

"Shh. I will if you want. But understand that we may not know much for a while."

Edward nodded anyway, and Esme followed Carlisle down the stairs. She slid into the driver's seat of his car without a word, allowing him to climb in the back with Wisp.

Or was it Isabella?

Esme shook her head slowly as she drove, trying to minimize the jarring bumps along the unevenly-paved roads. Isabella. _Bad Isabella_, Wisp had said. The question was, who was Isabella? Someone she'd known in the past? Or Wisp herself?

She kept her thoughts to herself. Carlisle needed to concentrate on making her well. The name, right now, was immaterial. Later they could try to puzzle it out.

At the hospital, Wisp was so out of it that she didn't protest being set on a gurney. She cried when she felt the restraints holding her to the moving table, but Carlisle insisted it was a safety precaution. She could hurt herself if she rolled off the side unexpectedly.

They let Esme stay—more as a courtesy to Carlisle than anything else, she suspected—as a nurse changed Wisp out of her sweaty clothes and into a thin hospital gown.

She got a room to herself in the hospital; whether because of Carlisle's influence or possible contagion, Esme didn't know. She stood by as the nurse settled her as comfortably as possible in the bed, then took her vitals.

"Temp's over 104," the nurse said. "You've got one sick young lady on your hands."

"We did our best at home, but finally decided it was time to let the professionals do their job." Esme stood by Wisp's head and stroked her limp, sweaty hair. "She hates being out of the house and we didn't want to scare her, but..."

"Sometimes you need the services of a facility," the nurse finished with a nod. "We'll take good care of her, Mrs. Cullen."

Esme and Carlisle took seats out of the way and began filling out Wisp's entrance paperwork as the nurse gathered the necessary items to place an IV. She tisked as she tapped and probed the soft underside of Wisp's elbow, searching for a vein. "Even a pediatric needle isn't going to do much good." She looked at the girl's forearm, then the back of her hand.

"She's very dehydrated." Esme gave the bed a lingering look. Wisp was quiet for the moment—still and small, her body trembling slightly. "Is she cold?"

"Not with a temp that high," Carlisle said. "Someone needs to give her social worker a call."

"Jasper spoke with him last night."

After checking both arms and even looking at Wisp's feet, the nurse called in a phlebotomist from the hospital's lab, just to make sure the difficult IV was placed with as little trouble as possible. Even so, the technician took two tries, first at the inside of her right elbow, then the back of her left hand. The second worked, and Esme breathed a sigh of relief. Wisp didn't seem to notice as they pricked her, but she still didn't like to watch. Vials of blood were drawn, then a bag of sterile saline set up.

"Normally it's safest to let fevers take their course," the nurse said. "But she's too hot, the poor thing. A doctor should be in soon to look over her paperwork and suggest the best course of treatment."

"I can do it," Carlisle said swiftly. "I've been in touch with her primary care physician already. He knows she's here." He stood and kissed the top of Esme's head. "Let me go sign in, and I'll be right back."

Everything was silent, save for Wisp's shallow, panting breaths and the occasional garbled word that dropped from her lips. The nurse used cotton balls and rubbing alcohol to bathe her forehead, which Esme hoped felt good, then smeared balm on her cracked, bleeding lips.

"Poor little thing's skin and bone," she commented. "She's tough, though. Fighting. I can tell."

"She's had a hard life," Esme agreed. "But we're doing our best to fix that."

"Is she yours?"

"Yes. Yes, she is now."

"Dr. Cullen never mentioned anything about adopting another kid."

Esme smiled slightly and stood, returning to Wisp's side. "It's complicated, and there's a lot we can't talk about just yet. The police are involved."

The nurse didn't seem as surprised as Esme thought she might. "Well, let's just be glad she has such good people taking care of her now."

Carlisle returned and immediately went to Wisp's chart, making quick notations. "Let's alternate IV ibuprofen and aspirin to try to break that fever. I want at least three bags of fluids in her before we even think about taking her back home." He looked over the blood tests that had been ordered. "I don't know if we can manage it, but I'd like to do a strep test, just to rule out the possibility." He lowered his hands and gently felt the sides of her throat, under her jaw and ears. "Her lymph nodes don't feel swollen, but a definite answer would be nice."

"What's next?" Esme asked, tense as she stroked Wisp's damp, sweaty hair. "Cold packs? More alcohol?"

"No, unfortunately." Carlisle offered her a sympathetic smile. "We can't cool her too rapidly or she'll start to shiver, which is counterproductive. And more than a little alcohol can have adverse effects. Wiping her forehead or palms is fine, but you wouldn't want to do more than that."

"Carlisle, she's so sick."

"I know." He rubbed his wife's arm. "Unfortunately, patience is what we need right now. Her vitals are being monitored, she's getting fluids and medication to bring down her fever, and they're running labwork. This is what she needs right now." He looked over the monitor. "Her blood oxygen isn't too bad, and her heart rate is fairly calm. She's as comfortable as we can make her right now."

"So we wait?"

He nodded. "We try to get a throat swab, and we wait."

"What if she starts thrashing again?"

"Let's just hope," Carlisle replied, "that, for now, she doesn't."

"I wish Edward wouldn't fret himself silly. He's furious with himself for 'forgetting' her—his words, not mine. I tried to tell him that he can't help getting sick, but I know he doesn't believe me."

"Logically he probably does. He's a smart man. But guilt doesn't often stem from logic." Carlisle offered his wife a gentle smile. "You know that."

"Yes," she said. "I do."

* * *

Rose and Alice both called hourly for updates, and Esme finally had to tell Edward to put the phone down—every ten or fifteen minutes she'd get another call from him, and she had nothing new to report. Wisp was sleeping as peacefully as could be expected. The combined efforts of the hospital had brought her temperature down a couple of degrees, but Carlisle said it wasn't yet safe to take her home. If they stopped the cool IV fluids, her temperature could easily shoot up again. He also said he'd prefer her to be lucid before leaving the hospital. Esme understood, though she almost thought it would be better if Wisp wasn't. Right now, she didn't know where she was. She had no idea what was going on around her, no clue that she was in a bed and Edward wasn't with her. Once she found out, it wouldn't be pretty.

"You poor thing," Esme said, soft and gentle, catching her hot hand to hold it. "I know. I know it can't feel good. But you're okay—or, you will be. Everyone here is doing their best to help you."

It proved impossible to get a throat swab from Wisp, but Carlisle didn't seem too disappointed—he said it was fairly unlikely she had strep anyway. He balked at giving her antibiotics when she probably had a viral infection, and Esme knew better than to argue. He knew what he was doing.

Several hours after they took blood samples, the lab results came back. She was badly dehydrated and malnourished, which they all knew anyway, and she had an increased white blood cell count—a sure sign she was fighting off something. Carlisle allowed the nurse to try feeding her through a tube, but Wisp's stomach refused the nourishment. Even as she sat up in her hospital bed, shaking and vomiting, Esme doubted she knew where she was. Her dark eyes were glassy and unfocused, and though she was obviously extremely unhappy, she wasn't panicking.

After the tube-feeding failure, Carlisle called for an antiemetic to be added to her IV along with the rotation of ibuprofen and aspirin. It seemed to work, and had the added side benefit of keeping Wisp drowsy and calm. She stopped dry-heaving, closed her eyes, and slept.

* * *

Ten hours after Wisp was admitted to the hospital, Esme returned from the cafeteria only to find Edward in her chair by the girl's bedside.

He looked awful.

He had a knit cap jammed over his head, and a week's worth of stubble on his chin. His eyes were sunken and dark, but it was the expression on his face that hurt the most.

"You didn't fail her, Edward." Really, Esme wanted more than anything to tell him to go home. He shouldn't be driving, shouldn't be out of bed. But one look at his face and she couldn't make herself scold him.

"She's in here because of me."

"She's here because of a nasty virus. That's all, sweetheart." She took another chair and propped her chin in her hand. "You've got to stop blaming yourself for something that you couldn't prevent. Yes, she caught the virus from you. But you didn't even know you were sick, and then you were in no shape to send her away. What could you have possibly done?"

He shrugged, and Esme could tell by the way his lips twisted that logic wasn't going to work. "I don't know. Something. Something more than just abandoning her."

"You didn't abandon her. You got sick. It happens, Edward."

He reached out slowly, drawing the barest feathering of a touch along her flushed skin—the soft velvet of her hairline, the seashell rim of her ear. "How is she?"

"Resting. Carlisle says it's not safe to take her off the IV yet, but you can see that she seems much more comfortable now that she's receiving fluids and medication." It was true. The terrified, pained thrashing she'd displayed at the house was gone now, replaced by a soft sleep that appeared much more peaceful. It was impossible to tell for sure what was going on inside her head, but her body, at least, was calm.

"I just want her to be okay, Esme."

"I know." She touched his shoulder. "We all do."

Edward inhaled slowly, and on the exhale he spoke. "Isabella?"

"What about it?" Esme looked at the girl asleep in the bed. She was still—small and so quiet. "I haven't done anything about it, if that's what you're asking. Talked to Scott, or Emmett. I figured that was your job."

"Thanks." He was silent for a minute. "What do you think?"

"It's hard to know." It was definitely something Esme had thought about during her vigil at the girl's bedside. "So many things in her life are 'bad' according to her. Bad Dr. Gerandy. Bad James. Bad Isabella."

"But you were there when she first met Alice," Edward argued. "I think most of us agreed it looked like she'd never seen another woman before—not that she remembered. And Isabella isn't exactly a unisex name."

"Yes, I thought of that, too." It was so hard to know anything for sure, or even make an educated guess. The girl was such a conundrum—so confused and confusing. "I'm not sure we can know. Not unless she tells us more."

"Isabella." Edward repeated the name slowly, as if testing the sound of it, the feel of the syllables in his mouth. "It's an awfully big name for such a little thing."

Esme agreed.

"Do you think it could really be her name?"

"I think stranger things have happened. But I also think...I don't know. It's hard to say for sure. She's so lost, Edward."

"We should tell Emmett anyway. It may not be much, but it's something."

They were silent, each alone with their thoughts for several long minutes.

"I don't suppose you're going home anytime soon?" Esme asked finally. She really would rather he did, but he was a grown man. She couldn't live his life for him.

Edward shook his head slowly. "Not without her. I can't sleep, knowing that she's here."

"Carlisle isn't going to like that."

"He doesn't have to." Edward cracked a smile. "It's just more incentive for him to spring her as quickly as possible."

* * *

"Edward?"

Edward raised his head from the side of Wisp's hospital bed. He felt fairly awful, all things considered. Headache, general body aches, and the disinfectant smell of the hospital was making him sick to his stomach...again. But that voice...that voice was everything he ever wanted to hear.

She was groggy, poor thing, and clearly not entirely awake, but her dark eyes blinked blearily at him.

"I'm right here, little Wisp." He caught her near hand, the one without an IV in it, and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

"Edward." She looked awful, but she sounded fairly content once he acknowledged her. "Edward."

He took a moment to study her. Her lips were rough and cracked, her eyes sunken, her hair sweaty and lank, and she looked even thinner than he remembered, her wrists nothing more than thin skin layered over bone. But the peaceful satisfaction in her bleary gaze settled something inside him that hadn't let him rest since he realized she was sick.

"Hey." He cleared his throat, then tried again. "There's my pretty girl. I've been so worried about you, you know."

The medication she was on must have made her feel pretty out of it—she wasn't complaining about being on a bed. Edward doubted she even realized it. Her hand reached out and touched his cheek, and she frowned as her fingers trailed clumsily through the thick growth.

"Yeah, I know," he said, smiling lightly. "I'll get rid of it when we go home, I promise."

"Edward!" Esme entered the room, her voice colored with relief. "She's awake! How are you, honey? Carlisle said she might wake up—they decreased some of her meds a few hours ago. You were out cold."

"Yeah." He rubbed his eyes. He still wasn't feeling great, but that hardly mattered. He needed Wisp to be home, where she belonged. Then they'd be able to recuperate together. "I'm tired, but I can deal. Did Carlisle say when she could come home?"

"If she can sip some water and keep it down, she can go home. He's already got her meds all ready."

"You hear that?" Edward smiled at the girl next to him. "If you can keep some water down, we can go home. What do you think about that?"

"Home," Wisp said obligingly, but her eyes were only half open.

"Did you ask her about the I-word yet?"

Edward shook his head. "She just woke up, and she's still sick. I don't want to push her."

Esme paused. "You know, being sick is what shook that name out of her in the first place. I don't want to push her either, but it might be a better time than you think."

Edward looked at the girl in the bed. She seemed so very small, swallowed by white blankets—smaller than usual. Her dark eyes blinked at him, hazy and uncertain but filled with the blissful trust she always showed him. He didn't want to hurt her, to cause her any sort of pain, particularly while she was so ill, but Esme was right. Illness had perhaps unlocked something inside her mind, something that might be locked in again if they didn't take advantage of it now.

And so, though she seemed so little, so weak and frail, Edward braced himself. He touched her knee, softened by the pile of blankets, and stroked gently. "Little Wisp. Can you hear me? Can you understand?"

She met his eyes, though hers did not completely open. "Edward."

"You know I love you, right, honey?"

"Edward."

"You know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. But you said something when you were so sick, and I need to know what it means." He eyed her. She was so small. Her head nodded on the pillow, though Esme said they'd reduced her medication. "You said the name Isabella. Isabella, sweetheart. Can you tell me who that is?"

Her eyelids flickered. She blinked once, twice. "Isabella," she said, the syllables clumsy in her mouth.

"Honey, is that you?" He squeezed her knee gently. "Are you Isabella?"

She was soft, the blanket warm where he touched her. Her brow pulled together, lines of confusion marring the smooth expanse of her face. "Bad," she whispered.

"Bad?" Edward asked. "How? Please, sweetheart, tell me what you mean."

"Bad." She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, then grimaced at the alien feel of the balm.

"Little Wisp, there's nothing for you to be afraid of, I promise. Nothing at all. But I need you to help us here. Who is Isabella?"

Her eyes closed. "E-evil. Evil, Edward."

"Shh, honey. If evil exists in the world, it's in the men who did this to you, whoever they are. Please, little one. Are you Isabella?"

She blinked. Those dark eyes killed him, every time he saw them. Even now, swimming still with confusion borne of fever and medication, there was something in them that he couldn't look away from. Not just her trust in him. Not just the uncertainty that sprung up whenever she knew someone wanted something from her. There was something more, something that he had seen almost from the beginning but only now was beginning to recognize, though he could not tell what it was.

"Wisp." He raised his hand from her knee, letting his fingers slip across her cheek. She was so soft. so warm. A little bundle of humanity, a sweet, perplexing puzzle. She wasn't an accident, or a mistake. Someone had done this on purpose—_made_ her what she was. Scared. Subservient. Meek and tractable, gentle as a kitten. Someone, or several someones, had damaged her mind, her sense of self, her humanity.

And they had done it with this very result in mind.

Fuck, he was too sick to deal with this, and so was she, but they had no choice.

His hand moved, slipping further against her cheek, firming, still gentle, holding her nodding head steady, keeping his eyes locked on the rolling darkness in hers. "You didn't deserve any of it. Whatever the fuck they did to you, whatever they said to keep you compliant. You were an innocent. Just a little girl. Easy prey. No one helped you then, but I'm here to help you now." He pressed his palm against the warmth of her skin. "Help me help you, little Wisp. Fight back. Fight back against what they did to you. Please. Tell me—I know you're in there somewhere. Are you Isabella?"

Her body stilled.

Edward expected her to close her eyes, but she didn't. That rolling, liquid darkness filled with tears. "Wisp," she whispered. "Please, Edward. Wisp."

"You'll always be my little Wisp." It was a promise he'd made to her a thousand times already, whether she knew it or not. "Always, sweet girl. But you're more than that. I know you are."

"Edward."

He nodded, dragging the pad of his thumb slowly across her cheekbone. "I'm your Edward, and you know I won't hurt you. Tell me. Please."

She inhaled slowly. Her heart rate had skyrocketed; he could hear the faint sound emanating from the monitor.

"Isabella," he said again. "Is that you?"

She blinked. Two tears spilled over. "Isabella," she whispered. "Evil, Edward. Daddy said."

"No, honey. I don't care what anyone said to you. You're not evil. How could you possibly be?"

"Evil."

"Never." He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. "I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. And I know it's maybe overwhelming, but I've got you. I've got you, and you're going to be just fine. I promise."

"Wisp, Edward. Wisp."

"If that's what you want right now," he readily agreed. "You can be my Wisp, and we can go home where you can rest and get better. Nothing has to change."

But even as he said it, Edward knew better. Everything already had changed.

* * *

A/N: I still from time to time get people asking whether Carlisle is evil in this story. No, he is not. He doesn't think Edward caring for Wisp is the best situation for either of them, but he's not mean or uncaring, just concerned for his son. That's all. He's not in cahoots with James or anything like that.

In case you haven't seen, I posted the Wisp futuretake I wrote for Fandom For Suicide Awareness. It's just a POSSIBLE futuretake, so I don't consider it a spoiler, but it's up to you, of course. Mwah! Loves you, duckies!


	35. Chapter 35

A/N: Thank you for all the well-wishes! Yes, I'm back at home after being in the hospital, and doing better. Nothing dire, and I'm not dying, lol!

Guess what? Two of my fics (not Wisp) are up for Fandom Choice Awards! Midnight Carnival in Favorite Short Story and As Children After Play for Best Friendship (I assume the nomination was for Bella/Rose friendship in that one). You can see all the nominations and vote at thefandomchoiceawards dot blogspot dot com. Also, I totally pushed to get Rainbow from Sideline Collision nominated as Best Original Character, and she's up there! So go vote for the kitty!

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

Alice and Jasper pulled up at the little cabin at the same time Esme did, which eliminated the need for Edward to carry Wisp inside. He bit his tongue and tried not to argue—the world still spun when he exerted himself, and carrying a grown girl definitely counted regardless of how underweight she was. They both needed some time to rest and recuperate, not just Wisp, though at least now they were home and could do it together. Edward knew going to the hospital when he felt so bad wasn't the best idea, but he hadn't been able to help it. Wisp was his responsibility, not Esme's or Carlisle's. He needed to be with her.

She'd done remarkably well at the hospital, all told. Everyone agreed it was at least partially because she was so out of it, asleep or mostly-asleep for the bulk of her stay. The fact that the anti-nausea medication knocked her out was a blessing. Edward had no idea whether all similar meds would do the same, or if Carlisle had picked one with that property on purpose. Either way, he was grateful. His little Wisp needed to be in a facility where she could receive the best care, but he hated the thought of her panicking. Luckily, she hadn't seemed to realize that she was on a bed at all. She'd only balked at the wheelchair they tried to use to transport her to his car, and Carlisle had stepped in to carry her instead. She did not protest, but Edward noticed that she didn't snuggle against him either, like she always did with Edward.

Nor did she cuddle against Jasper as he carried her inside and set her on the air mattress next to Edward's bed. Wisp yawned, her eyes half-lidded and heavy. She was more awake than she'd been in the hospital, but still groggy and sick. Carlisle sent them home with a brown paper bag of medications—an anti-nausea liquid, a stronger painkiller than the children's Tylenol she usually chewed, and something to help her sleep. Edward doubted the last one, at least, would be needed. She slept well enough with the nausea medication alone.

"Glad to be home?" Jasper asked as he straightened.

"You have no idea." Even the walk up the one flight of stairs made Edward's heart pound and his breath catch, and he sat heavily on the side of his bed. Esme, mothering as always, had changed the bedding while he was at the hospital with Wisp, and both his bed and her air mattress were crisp, cool, and clean.

"What would I do without you?" he asked, cracking a small smile as Esme helped Wisp under the blankets and tucked her in.

"You never have to worry about that," she replied, "so hush now. Your job is to rest and get better—both of you."

Jasper felt Wisp's forehead and lymph nodes, then let her be. "I've been in touch with her social worker. He says he'll make another visit in a week or so, once you're both feeling a little better."

"He can come now," Edward said, "as long as he comes without that bitch doctor." He'd told Scott as much yesterday on the phone. "I didn't get us sick on purpose. Feel guilty as fuck, but I don't have anything to hide."

"I know you do."

Wisp smiled sleepily up at Esme as the latter finished tucking her in and smoothed the blankets down over her body. "Mother."

"What was that?" Jasper raised an eyebrow.

Edward could only smile as Esme kissed Wisp's forehead. This was the second time he'd heard his girl call Esme that, and the happiness in her voice warmed his heart. "Hi, baby," Esme said. "You rest now, okay? Sweet thing. You need it."

"Rose didn't tell you?" Alice stepped into the room holding a large box and a bunch of helium balloons. "She asked Esme to be her mother before she got sick. Poor thing! You look like a ghost, Wisp, honey."

It was true that Wisp didn't look so great. She was pale as death, eyes sunken, thinner even than she had been before. But she was on the mend and that's all Edward cared about.

"Wisp, I brought you a care package since you're sick," Alice said, setting the box next to Wisp's air mattress. Wisp stared at the purple and white balloons clustered around a big silver mylar balloon that said "Get Well Soon" in big block letters. "Do you like the balloons?" Alice grinned as she released the ribbons, letting the balloons bob into the corner of the room. "You can play with them when you're feeling better. Jasper says you're on bed rest for now." She shook her finger mock-seriously at the girl lying meekly in her little bed on the floor. "But don't worry—I have lots of stuff for you that will make you feel better."

She knelt by the box and pulled off the lid, then began pulling things out. "Oh! There's a back rest for you downstairs. I forgot—will you bring it up, Jazz?"

Edward watched in amusement as Alice piled things next to Wisp on the big air mattress. The poor girl had no idea what most of it was, he was sure of it. There was a get-well card for both him and Wisp that Rose, Emmett, Jasper, Alice, Carlisle, and Esme had all signed. A little portable DVD player and a handful of Disney movies. A couple of new books—she _did_ know what those were, and her sleepy eyes lit with excitement when she saw them. Some bath salts that Alice swore were "rejuvenating." A plush little brown teddy bear wearing a t-shirt that said "Get Well Soon." A new pair of red flannel pajamas and several pairs of thick, fuzzy socks. Lotion ("body butter," Alice corrected him) that smelled like sugar cookies. Herbal teas and a mug that was all hers, with a scene from Alice in Wonderland on it. Some treats she could hopefully start to eat fairly soon—in the next couple of days—that wouldn't be too hard on her stomach. Animal crackers in an iconic little circus box. A bag of microwave popcorn. A bathtub caddy so she could bring a book or the DVD player into the tub with her.

"You're spoiling her rotten," Jasper observed, though there was nothing but amusement in his voice.

"Oh, hush." Alice flipped him off behind her back, where Wisp couldn't see. "She couldn't ever be spoiled. Could you, Wisp?" She patted the girl's knee. "Of course not. And after everything you've been through, you deserve a little pampering."

Edward couldn't agree more.

The backrest, as he had feared, was an ugly pillowy-thing with arms that Wisp could use to prop herself up in a sitting position. Useful, and he was sure she'd like it, but as he said before, ugly.

Not that it mattered much at the moment. Wisp was asleep again before Jasper had it in the room.

"You just rest now," Esme said as Alice packed away Wisp's care package back in the box. "Carlisle and I will come around to check on you both, so don't push yourself."

"Where's Rose?" Edward was more than a little surprised that she hadn't come to visit Wisp in the hospital and wasn't here now. As brusque as she was with the rest of the world, she genuinely seemed to care about his ward. "I kind of expected her to be here, bossing everyone around."

"Her doctor read her the riot act," Alice said, rolling her eyes. "Ordered her to keep away while everyone was sick, and lectured her about carrying around heavy stuff like she does here and at the shop. Emmett gloated, they got in a huge fight, and the doctor threatened to put her on bed rest if she didn't start listening better. I think she's mostly just sulking now, but I can't blame her. She's not used to anyone telling her what to do."

That was true enough. Emmett tried from time to time, but he knew better by now than to expect her to pay any attention.

"Just rest," Esme repeated. "Rose will be back when she can. I know she loves Wisp, but she has a baby to think of. As tough as she is, this has to be difficult for her."

Edward didn't doubt it for a second. Rose did not and would not ever deal well with anyone, even her doctor, telling her what to do.

Alice and Jasper said their goodbyes, promising to come back and visit within the next couple of days, as Wisp slowly came off the medication and started, hopefully, to feel better.

"But don't worry," Esme said with a little wink after the front door closed behind them, "Alice promised not to try to cook for you." Rose was a good, if unenthusiastic, cook. Alice was not. She had a heart of gold, but everyone agreed it was best she wasn't allowed in a kitchen.

"Thank you." Edward let his face curl into a tired smile. "For everything. You and Carlisle have been amazing."

"I told you before that you can't do this alone, nor should you have to." Esme returned his smile. "Rest now. I'll come back to check on you both later tonight. And please try not to pick her up unless you have to. Remember, you're still sick too."

"Check." Normally Edward balked at anyone who tried to tell him not to hold his girl, but Esme was right. Carrying around another person wasn't in either of their best interests right now. He didn't think he'd ever forgive himself if he dropped her.

Wisp was out like a light, her sleep heavy and deep, and as Esme left them alone Edward allowed himself to relax for what felt like the first time in days. He was gladder than he could express that she had accepted the air mattress; now they both could sleep in comfort and he didn't have to worry about jostling her or rolling her off of his body and onto the bed if he moved in his sleep. She was on the floor next to his bed—he could see her, hear her. If they both reached out their arms, he could touch her. Eventually she needed to be in her own room, but for now this was a perfectly good compromise. Not just for her, but for him, too. He was immensely comforted by the sight of her, the knowledge that she was okay.

"I'm sorry this happened, little Wisp," he said as he rolled himself into his clean bed. "I didn't get either of us sick on purpose. I can't be too sorry that we might have a real name for you, though." _Isabella_. He let the name echo in his mind as he gazed at her sleeping face, her body a little swell under her blankets. Did she look like an Isabella? It was hard to say. She was his Wisp, and had been for months now. She looked like herself—the girl he cared for, the girl who trusted him not to hurt her.

With a lilting meow, Pet peeked around the corner before stalking over to the air mattress. She climbed up, settling herself on Wisp's sleeping back and beginning to wash a paw.

"Did you miss your person?" he asked, watching with amusement. Wisp didn't budge. "What do you think—d'you think she looks like an Isabella?" It was an awfully big name for such a little girl. A regal name. Weren't there Spanish queens named Isabella or something like that? Wisp was an undeniably lovely young woman, but regal she was not. Once she heard what had happened, Alice would probably give her a new nickname. Isa? Izzy? He wrinkled his nose. Neither sounded like they fit her. Bell?

Bella.

A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Bella. Lilting—sweet and small, just like she was. "You'll always be my Wisp," he murmured, watching her dark eyelashes flicker as she slept. "But when you're ready to find out what else you can be, maybe Bella wouldn't be as frightening as Isabella."

No response.

"Yeah, I know. It's going to take some time."

* * *

Wisp woke in the evening, groggy but peaceful, and she smiled as she turned over and hugged Pet to her. "Pet," she said, nuzzling into the scruffy black fur.

"Hi." Edward put down the book he'd been reading and smiled at her. "I think you were too out of it to miss Pet, but she missed you." He suspected so, anyway. Pet had been a demon while Wisp was in the hospital, destroying things and yowling so loud, Edward was glad he didn't have any neighbors. Someone would have called animal control on him for sure. Now the ball of fur purred happily, burrowing into the warmth of Wisp's arms and blankets. He could only be happy that Alice's choice of pet seemed to be as attached to her human as Wisp was to her. He didn't know what would have happened if they'd got a dog or cat that didn't like her.

The afternoon had been peaceful; he'd read and even napped a little, much more relaxed now that he knew Wisp was home safe. She was still sick, but her temperature had dropped below dangerous levels and she had enough fluid and drugs in her system to keep her symptoms under control. He needed to watch for signs of dehydration returning, but for now she was good.

"Pet," she repeated happily, her eyelids blinking with the slow precision that Edward knew meant she was still fairly out of it. "Pretty Pet. Good Pet." The cat rubbed its hard little skull against her chin, and she responded with a slow giggle.

"I don't know if you ever had a pet before. Something you could give your heart to without fear. I'm glad she makes you happy."

Wisp raised dark eyes to him, and her smile gentled. This was the sweet smile that not even Rose got—the one that was just for him. "Pretty Edward."

He laughed. "I probably look just about as bad as you do right now. But I appreciate the sentiment." And the words. Edward hadn't forgotten the way she'd turned inward, giving up, almost, before he fell sick. How she'd refused to speak, shedding her clothing and doing nothing but sitting still, as if she were part of the furniture and nothing more. Whether she'd worked through whatever was bothering her or just plain didn't remember after being so sick, he didn't know. Nor did he completely care. She was talking, wearing her pajamas and lying peacefully in a bed—never mind that it was on the floor. He'd take it. No matter the cause, he'd take it.

"You really scared me, you know," he told her as Pet wiggled free and went to investigate the window. "Please, don't hide from me like that again. Whatever's bothering you, it's my job to help you now."

She bit her lip, chewing on the soft pink flesh. He knew she was groggy, so he didn't really expect more of a response from her than that.

Until she opened her mouth.

"Sor-ry, Edward."

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

Yes, that was his Wisp, a little line between her eyebrows as she concentrated through the haze of medication. Her long hair was messy from sleep and could use a wash, and she was still chewing on her lower lip. Her cheeks had a little color as she sat under the warm blankets Esme had piled on her air mattress, though the rest of her skin was sickly pale.

"Wisp?" He moved, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Sor-ry, Edward," she repeated. Her lower lip quivered slightly. "P-punish?"

"No, honey." He slid to the floor next to her mattress and turned her body gently so they were sitting face to face. "I'm not going to punish you. Never." His hands squeezed her bent knees gently. This was...odd. She'd used words before; that in itself wasn't the problem. But this conversation felt different. Like she was actively trying to understand him and respond appropriately.

"Pen...penance?" Her forehead wrinkled further as she struggled for words inside what he could only assume was the chaotic mess of her mind.

"No. There's no penance in this house, no punishment. Just help. We try to help each other. That's what friends and family do."

"Sorry."

Edward shook his head. "You don't have to be sorry, little Wisp. Just please don't shut the world out like that. It's not healthy, and you make me so scared."

"Scared?"

He nodded, somehow finding half a smile for her. "Very scared, sweetheart. Scared for you." Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead. She smelled like hot skin and clean laundry. "I know you're scared, too. I just hope you're not scared of me. I'll never hurt you. Do you know that?"

"Hurt." She put her hand to her stomach and grimaced. "Ow, Edward."

"Yeah." He sighed. "It's about time for your meds." Her eyes remained on his, but the fierce concentration was slowly leaking from them. She was too tired and too out of it to stay focused for long, and he felt bad for making her try. Still, he couldn't help asking her one last question. "Tell me something about you, please. Tell me something about Wisp." Or Isabella. He wasn't picky.

Wisp tipped her head to the side, studying him in silence just as he studied her. Her delicate brows didn't draw into a frown again, and there was no sign of frustration or unease in her body language. She sucked on her lower lip with a look on her face that Edward badly wanted to classify as consideration.

"Do you understand?" he asked, reaching forward to trace just the tips of two fingers along the sharply defined line of her jaw. "Can you understand the question, sweet girl?"

She bit a little harder on her lip just as the sound of the door opening downstairs met Edward's ears.

"Hello?" Esme called. "Anyone up?"

"Mother," Wisp said happily, and her face lit like a clear dawn. She looked toward the empty doorway, then met Edward's eyes again. "Mother, Edward." She smiled even wider and pointed as Esme appeared.

"Yeah." Edward didn't know if his heart hurt or felt glad as he watched his Wisp hold her arms out for Esme's hug. "She's my mother. Looks like you've decided she's yours, too."

Esme chuckled as she held Wisp's eager body close. "You're looking much better," she said, brushing tangled strands of dark hair away from her face. "How do you feel, sweetheart?"

"Mother," Wisp replied, nestling into the arms that curled softly around her. Her eyes closed for a moment, her face awash with contentment.

"I'm almost jealous," Edward said with a grin. "But you still like me best, right?"

"Hush, you." Esme waved a hand at him, but there was a smile on her face. "This little one has a big enough heart for everyone in her life. Poor baby's been starved for love in both directions, giving and receiving."

Well, not anymore. Wisp had a ready-made family now, and it looked like she was taking full advantage of the opportunity. Edward honestly couldn't be happier. It was the reason he'd got her the kitten, after all—so she could have something to love.

"Ready to go downstairs for a little while?" Esme asked as she lifted Wisp into her arms. Edward's aunt was not a large or particularly muscular woman, but Wisp was tiny and docile as a kitten. "I thought we'd try some juice and broth tonight, Edward, and see if her stomach can handle it."

He didn't know if it would, but regardless, she needed her meds. If the anti-nausea medication was allowed to wear off, she might not be able to keep down the next dose of it. Then they'd be back at square one.

Wisp was more than happy to snuggle into his lap on the couch, and Edward took a deep breath once Esme placed her in his arms. This was the first time in days that he'd really been able to hold her, and he found that he'd missed the sweetness of her touch more than he thought possible. It felt right, having her tucked securely in his grasp. When he held her, he knew she was safe. He could feel the gentle looseness of her body, free from the tension that meant she was stressed or afraid. He could see her warm, content eyes and the expression on her face. Right now, it was calm.

Esme brought mugs of chicken soup for both of them, along with bland Saltine crackers for Edward. Wisp only had a few swallows of plain broth in her mug, but even so she looked at it with something akin to trepidation after dutifully swallowing a syringe of liquid medication.

"I know," Edward said, holding her with one arm and her mug with the other. "I know. Your stomach hasn't reacted well to food recently. But you can't just stop eating forever."

Eventually he coaxed her to take a little sip. She swallowed carefully, her throat visibly working, and they didn't have to warn her to wait a while before taking another sip. To her obvious relief, she was able to drink the broth and a little bit of apple juice without any mishaps. Edward let out a relieved breath when it was clear that her stomach wasn't going to revolt over its small liquid meal.

"Good girl," Esme said as she took Wisp's dishes. "She'll be on a bland diet for the next few days—maybe a week or so, depending on how soon we can wean her off the meds."

"Bland diet?" Wisp tended to like bland foods, especially starches. He didn't think she'd mind.

"Mm-hm. Broth, applesauce, Saltines, bananas...things like that. As much water and juice as we can get her to drink. Jasper brought over some juice meant for his pediatric patients; it's fortified with electrolytes but not full of sugar like Gatorade."

Edward made a face. Yes, that was sick food, all right. Wisp yawned in his lap.

Esme chuckled. "You finish eating, Edward, and I'll give her a bath before she falls asleep."

"Would you like that?" Edward asked. He touched Wisp's cheek, and she tipped her head toward him with a sleepy smile. "Do you want to go with Esme for a bath?"

"Bath," she replied with another yawn, but she balked when Esme tried to lift her from Edward's grasp. "Edward." Her voice was small and pleading. "Edward."

"Hey. I'm not going anywhere. You know that." He nudged her nose with his, but she tightened her grasp on his sleeve and ducked her head against his shoulder.

And Edward really couldn't deal with that.

He'd been away from her for far too long, first when he was sick and then when she caught the virus. Watching her from his bed, then from the side of hers in the hospital, wasn't the same as the close, daily contact they were used to sharing. He wasn't going to suddenly demand that she continue to sleep in his bed if she didn't want to or anything like that, but he couldn't ignore her when she wanted to keep him close. He just couldn't.

"It's okay," he told Esme, and he was careful as he lifted Wisp in his arms. His head swam a little, but his feet were firmly planted and he didn't falter.

Esme shook her head. "You need to rest too, Edward."

"I won't carry her on the stairs, I promise. But I can't say no to that face; you know I can't."

"Yes," Esme said with a little smile. "I know."

"Come on, pretty girl." Edward nuzzled her shoulder. "You can have a bath, and then we'll introduce you to TV before you fall asleep."

* * *

A/N: So many of you have expressed opinions on BOTH sides of the issue regarding Rose carrying Wisp around, which I really didn't expect, lol! Yes, I know the jury's kind of out on the subject. Some doctors say it's not good for pregnant women to be doing things like that, others disagree. Plenty of people have personal anecdotes for both opinions. Rosalie is Rosalie, so she's going to be stubborn and dislike anyone telling her what to do.

Mwah! Loves you, duckies!


	36. Chapter 36

A/N: Hello, and happy new year! I hope 2013 treats everyone kindly. For those who haven't seen, I posted a Christmas outtake for Wisp. You can find it on my profile. :)

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

As it turned out, Edward didn't get a chance to introduce Wisp to her new DVD player and the movies Alice had given her. She was out before they even got upstairs, falling asleep heavily in his arms. She was so sensitive to her medication, poor thing. He smiled as he settled her on her air mattress. Though in reality she'd only had a few mouthfuls of liquid, he felt hopeful that she was on her way to feeling better. Before her trip to the hospital, she couldn't even keep down a sip of water for more than a few minutes. The sound of her crying as she dry-heaved and retched was beyond painful. It didn't help at all that they couldn't explain to her why she felt so bad or what was going on. Did she know what a virus was? Surely she'd been sick before—people didn't escape childhood without illness, even in the best circumstances.

Or did they? It was impossible to know what kind of contact with the outside world she'd had prior to this, and contact with infected individuals was how sickness spread.

But still. This couldn't possibly be the first time she'd been sick.

Edward set her down on her air mattress and was about to pull the blankets up over her again when she reached out with one clumsy hand, grabbing at his sleeve as heavy, sleepy eyes opened. "Ed-ward," she mumbled, tugging weakly.

"Shh, little Wisp, it's okay to sleep. I'm here, and I won't leave you." Never. Not as long as she needed him.

"Ed-ward." Her voice was barely a breath, but she kept her hold on his sleeve.

"Okay, sweet girl. Okay." He touched her warm cheek, then slid carefully onto the air mattress beside her. Fuck it. Rosalie kept telling him he wasn't a predator, and if his Wisp wanted him close, he wasn't going to argue about it.

She made a soft, contented noise, settling against his side and letting her head burrow into her pillow. "Edward."

"I'm yours, precious thing." He kissed the top of her head, using his free arm to tuck her blankets closer around her.

She was asleep within seconds.

Edward chuckled softly and kissed her damp hair, then reached up to grab the book on his nightstand. He was farther along in his recuperation than Wisp was, and he didn't feel the need to sleep all day and all night. The air mattress wasn't as comfortable as his bed, but it was definitely good enough. He settled in, Wisp's head pillowed next to him, her forehead softly touching the curve of his shoulder, and opened the book.

* * *

She had to be woken in the morning to receive her scheduled medication, neither of which pleased her. She whined softly and buried her head in her pillow, one hand pulling at her blankets. Edward hated to disturb her, but this was important. He tickled her ear. "Little Wisp," he said softly. "Honey, come on. I know you want to sleep, but you need your meds." Carefully he drew her into a sitting position. She slumped like a rag doll, dangling in his hands, her big eyes barely slitted open.

"No, Edward," she mumbled, plaintive, mournful.

"Good girl." Making her wants known with words rather than just body language was a definite step in the right direction. Unfortunately, he couldn't just let her have her way this time. "Thank you for talking to me. I need you to sit up for just a second and then you can go back to sleep."

She didn't protest when he put syringes of liquid medication to her lips—first the anti-nausea meds, then the painkiller. Within the next few days they would try weaning her off both. Because she was the next thing to nonverbal, they'd have to watch her closely for signs that she was in pain. Edward suspected she would be okay. He was more concerned with her stomach, but she couldn't stay medicated forever.

"Water?" He offered her a cup, and she took several small sips before casting a longing glance back at her pillow. "Okay." Edward helped her settle back to the mattress, tucking her blankets around her. "There. Now you can sleep a little more. I want you to get up in a few hours and try to eat, though."

She was asleep before he finished talking.

Since he wasn't tired, Edward took the opportunity to shower. It was a lengthy ordeal, and he shaved afterward, after which he felt much more human. Better than he had the past week or more, anyway. Poor Wisp, he thought. She'd been sicker than him. He couldn't imagine how awful she'd felt during the worst of it. At least she'd been drugged for the very worst, and able to sleep. He made some toast and tea—coffee was not recommended by Carlisle for another few days—and settled on the couch. It felt a little strange to sit here without Wisp in his lap, to be honest.

Before he could decide how to occupy himself while Wisp slept—a book, catching up on news, going through notes for the book he was supposed to be writing—his phone buzzed on the table. Rosalie.

"Hey, stranger."

"Fuck you," she said. "How's my girl?"

"_My_ girl," Edward corrected. "She's sleeping. I heard you've been incarcerated."

"Fucking doctor," Rose grumbled. "I'm fine, I swear to god. I'd fire his ass and get a new OB, but there isn't anyone else taking new patients in this fucking town." She paused, and Edward could hear voices in the background.

"Are you at work?"

"Yeah. I have to _delegate_." Edward could hear the derision in her voice. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Plenty of working women can't _delegate_ their jobs. I mean, what would he say if I said I'd get fired if I didn't haul around shit like I usually do?"

"Rose, you're the boss. You can't really fire yourself."

"Not the point, asshole." She barked out a quick order to someone, then returned to the phone. "Really, how is she? I was pissed when I couldn't come see her in the hospital."

"She's...it's slow, but I think she's on the right road." Edward glanced at the stairs. They were empty, and Wisp hopefully slept in peace right above him. "Her meds knock her out. It's not as bad as in the hospital, but she's still pretty out of it. Part of me wishes I could change that, and part of me thinks it's maybe better that she sleeps through most of this anyway. Being that sick can't be comfortable."

"Yeah," Rosalie agreed. "I get you. Look, Jasper's supposed to tell me when I can start coming over again. I think it's stupid—she's obviously not contagious anymore—but Emmett's pretty adamant and I think we'll let him have his way this time. It'll be good for him." She paused. "I have someone I'd like to introduce Wisp to, when she's feeling a little better."

"Who?" Edward was instantly on alert. Wisp's "social" circle, if it could be called that, consisted of family, close friends, and those people necessary for her well-being and her case, like Scott and Garrett. Why would Rose suddenly want to just up and introduce her to someone else?

"My friend Emily. She was part of a therapy group I joined after Royce screwed me over. She got married young—really young—and it took her years to get up the courage to leave her abusive dick of a husband. We left the group at about the same time, and she ended up going on to get a degree from the University of Washington. She's back in town after graduating, and I want Wisp to meet her."

Edward considered. He didn't think he really had a choice about anyone Emmett brought over, Emmett being the police and all, but he _did_ have a choice about who Rosalie introduced to Wisp. That being said, he didn't think it was necessarily a bad idea. Wisp could use another female in her life, and the opinion of a woman similar to Rose, one who had suffered through the things men were capable of, should be welcomed. "Okay," he said slowly. "But I want to wait until she's feeling better. She's really not in any condition to be stressed out right now."

"I don't want to stress her," Rosalie snapped. "Jesus, Edward. I'm not that bitch doctor. But you know as well as I do that her progress has been stalled, even pushed backward, for a while now. She needs to have a little push, I think, and Emily might be the person to do it."

Yeah, Edward knew it, though he didn't like it. He wanted to wrap that girl up tight in warm clothes and blankets and pillows—anything that made her happy—and refuse to let the rest of the world bother her. He wanted to let her rest, and have every happy thing he could provide. Companionship. Her pet. Good food, art supplies. All of it. Everything. He smiled slightly as he wondered whether Carlisle and Esme might consider having a pool put in. He couldn't say for sure, of course, but he bet Wisp would take to swimming like...well, like a fish to water.

"I get it," he said. "Don't push her, Rose."

"You men." He could _hear_ her bitchface over the phone. "Thinking you know what's best. We're a lot tougher than you seem to think, you know."

Edward let Rosalie harp; it was just leftover irritation with her own situation, after all, and not necessarily Wisp's. She might really think he was shielding the girl too much—in fact, she probably did. But that wasn't her call to make. Wisp was his responsibility. His, and Jasper's, and Scott's. And her therapist, whenever they got around to getting her one. It was on his to-do list, he swore. But she'd had a huge backslide in progress and then they'd both been sick... After she was better, he promised himself. After she was better, he'd start making calls.

Speaking of calls. Edward said goodbye to Rose, then dialed her husband.

"Ed, dude, how you doing? No more projectile vomiting?"

Edward grimaced. He didn't really want to remember the last week or so, frankly. "Isabella," he said instead. "She was all fucked up with her fever and then with meds, but I'm ninety percent sure her name is Isabella. "

"Yeah, Esme told me. Unfortunately, it hasn't given us any leads."

Edward blinked. "A name isn't giving you leads?"

"There are no missing Isabellas in the US or Canada that fit her description. There's a thirty-five-year-old named Isabella Carter missing from Ottawa, Canada, but that's it, man. And we're checking more internationally, but it's gonna take some time."

"A middle name?" Edward sort of knew he was grasping at straws, but he didn't care.

"Checked that possibility, too. No go."

And Isabella wouldn't be a nickname—it was too long and formal. Nor was it a last name. Was it true, then, what James had said? Did she really have no one looking for her? Edward tugged hard at his hair. It just wasn't possible. How could a girl go missing and nobody notice? How could anyone look at her and not want her back?

"So we're back where we started." His voice was flat. "And we started with nothing."

"Sorry, man. This is how police work happens, sometimes. We went through all the Gerandys in the state, with no red flags. No one's looking for a girl around her age that matches her description. The chief wants to set up a meeting with you and her social worker to talk about the next step."

"What's the next step?"

"Going to the media." Emmett groaned; Edward knew that sound. He'd just sat down. "I know you don't wanna, and we didn't, either. I don't think any of us want to make a media sideshow of her. But...fuck, man. Maybe someone out there knows something. Maybe we can get 'em to come forward."

Edward didn't like it. He didn't like it at _all_. "Emmett, you know she won't be able to handle that." Once the media got hold of this story, the story of a feral girl who thought she was an animal, he and Wisp would have no peace. How the hell was she supposed to make any progress or, hell, even just feel comfortable? They'd never be able to take her anywhere. This cabin was her sanctuary, but he didn't want it to turn into her jail, too.

"Easy, Ed. Chill. You know no one wants that. We'll start small—release a photo and ask for help identifying her. That's it. No details. It'll be okay."

Edward wasn't so sure, but what could he do? This was their call, not his. It's possible Scott could talk them out of it, but he doubted the social worker would. Finding where she came from was too important. "For the record," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I don't like it." Fuck, he could feel the start of a tension headache.

"Yeah, we got that. It's just...what else are we supposed to do? We need answers, and we got nothing."

Edward knew that, he did. But that didn't mean he had to like the idea of letting the public invade Wisp's safe little bubble.

* * *

An hour and a half later, a sleepy Wisp backed her way down the stairs, her eyes barely slitted open. Edward smiled as he watched her make her way to the bathroom, and he gave her a few minutes of privacy before he joined her.

When he peered around the open doorway, Edward had to stifle a bark of laughter. It really wasn't funny...except it was. She'd used the toilet—that much he could hear—then promptly fallen asleep again on the soft bathmat in front of the tub. Edward exhaled a slow breath as he shook his head. They really needed to wean her off those meds. This was getting ridiculous.

He picked her up in his arms and took her back upstairs, settling her on her air mattress once again. The blankets were still warm with her body heat, and she burrowed into the softness. Her hair was tangled and she needed to wash, but all that could wait. He smoothed her hair back, out of her face, and was rewarded with a pleased little hum before she sank deeper into sleep.

Rousing her again wouldn't be fun, but she needed to try to eat. Edward made a packet of plain oatmeal and some lukewarm tea, and brought both to her upstairs. Pet demanded to sniff what was in the bowl, but once she discovered what it was, she wandered away again.

"Hey, pretty girl." Edward tickled her ear again. "I know sleep is one of your favorite things, but it's important to be awake, too."

She pushed at his hand, and he chuckled as he caught her fingers and gave them a squeeze.

"Come on, now. Sit up for me."

Groggy and disoriented, she did. Edward pulled over the ugly backrest thing Alice gave her, and she did seem better able to hold herself up with the cushion at her back. She rubbed her eyes, then looked dubiously at the bowl Edward offered. "Ow," she said, wrapping an arm around her stomach.

"What does that mean, honey? Does it hurt now, or do you just remember that it hurt before?"

But she didn't answer the question, as he knew she wouldn't. She did accept the tea, taking tiny sips of the warm liquid.

"Good girl." Edward stroked her cheek. "I want you to try one bite for me, though. Just one, okay?" He raised the spoon with a little oatmeal on it, and offered it to her.

"Ow, Edward." Her dark eyes were full of sleep, and they eyed the spoon with misgiving.

"I know, little Wisp. I know. Just...please? One bite. I won't make you eat any more than that."

She whimpered, and the sound almost undid him. He wasn't good at saying no to her—not when she looked at him with those soft, dark eyes. Rousing her from sleep was hard enough. But this was important. She needed to eat, or she'd end up in the hospital again. She needed to know that it was okay to eat—that she wouldn't always vomit everything back up.

"Come on." He tried to steel himself against the pleading look on her delicate face, and he brought the spoon to her mouth again, holding it there. "One bite, and then I'll stop bugging you."

With a reluctance borne of bad experience, she gave in. He knew she would; she didn't have it in her to argue, though she was slowly learning to voice her preferences. She deferred to him, because she didn't know how not to.

"Thank you," he said, and true to his word, he didn't make her eat any more. He watched her swallow the small bite, then sip more of her tea. She looked resigned, as if she fully expected to throw up soon.

"I know you're afraid of being sick again." Edward pushed the bowl aside and reached instead for the DVD player. She could probably use a good distraction, and he didn't want her going right to sleep. "Look—Alice brought this for you, but I think you were too confused to really notice." He opened the device, plugged it in, and selected Peter Pan out of the handful of Disney DVDs Alice had supplied. "Look, little Wisp. I think you'll really like this."

She did.

Her bleary eyes grew huge, and she sat perfectly still as Edward placed the DVD player in her lap. He took the mug of tea out of her hands, just in case, and adjusted the volume so it hopefully wouldn't irritate her sensitive ears.

From the opening credits to the ending scene, she was...entranced. Edward couldn't think of a better word. Her eyes never left the little screen in her lap; he doubted she moved.

She did, however, make noise.

"Peter!" she squealed when he first appeared. Yeah, she knew him. Edward had wondered, since the Disney version obviously didn't look exactly like the illustrations in her book. But she knew. He'd planned to grab a book while she watched her movie, but Edward found that he couldn't look away. Her responses were far too moving. "Bad!" she gasped at the figure of Captain Hook, and when a disguised bomb blew up the Lost Boys' hideout, she hid her head in her hands and whimpered.

It was...Edward couldn't remember the first time he'd watched television. It was just part of his childhood, something that was always around. Saturday morning cartoons and bowls of Fruit Loops or Apple Jacks, often with Emmett if he'd slept over the night before. The news droning in the background, weekday evenings, while he worked on his homework. Movies both at home and in the theater. Disney and Don Bluth, then more adult movies as he grew.

Wisp had had none of that.

He couldn't say for sure, of course. But the way she stared at the little screen, hardly daring to breathe, was a big clue. As the screen returned to the main menu, she reached out trembling hands and slowly picked up the DVD player. She peered at the bottom and back, then tugged at the power cord until it detached.

"No!" She held the device in one hand and the cord in the other, and she looked up at Edward with something he hoped wasn't fear.

"Hey, it's okay. It's not broken." He put the power cord back in, then popped it out again to show her. "See? That's how it works."

She spent a good minute plugging in and unplugging the power cord, then turned the screen toward Edward. It was still sitting on the menu. "Peter?"

"Yeah, that was Peter. Did you like it?"

"Peter," she said again, extending the player further toward him.

"You...want to watch it again?" Edward hoped he understood what she was trying to tell him. "You have others; Alice gave you more than one movie. Do you want to watch a different one?" He showed her the cases, but she wasn't interested.

"Peter!"

"Okay, okay." He chuckled. "Peter it is." He hit play again.

About fifteen minutes into the movie, the front door opened. Edward headed downstairs and met Esme in the doorway.

"How is everyone?" She gave him a hug. "You look a lot better."

He chuckled. "I bathed."

"And Wisp?"

Edward beckoned her upstairs.

Wisp was right where he'd left her, staring at the screen of her DVD player, and she didn't even glance up as he and Esme entered the room.

"Oh..." Esme smiled. "That's sweet. It's a good, quiet activity while she's sick, too."

Edward agreed. It was entertaining enough to hold her attention so she didn't fall asleep, but still a quiet, restful activity. He'd get her all the DVDs she wanted, if it meant she would sit still and relax while she was sick.

"I heard from Emmett today."

"Oh?"

"He said her name, if it is her name, didn't bring up any new leads. He wants to put her photo—"

"Shh."

Edward blinked. It wasn't Esme who shushed him, but Wisp. She looked up at them with her solemn little face. "Peter," she said, pointing to the screen on her lap.

"Okay, lovey," Esme said, and he could tell she was holding back laughter. "We'll go downstairs to talk, and you can watch Peter."

Downstairs again, Edward let out a chuckle. "Every time I think I have her figured out, she surprises me."

"She surprises us all." His aunt went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. "How has she been today?"

"Sleepy." Edward leaned back against the kitchen counter. "I know the meds are important, but they really mess her up. I'll be glad when she's not so out of it all the time."

"Is she giving you trouble?"

Edward shook his head. What trouble could she possibly be? Though she was learning to express herself, she still deferred to others every time there was the slightest confrontation. Short of trying to blow him again—an experience he prayed never to have to relive—what could she do? "I feel bad making her wake up, even though I know she can't just sleep all day. I think the movies were a really good idea."

"Bless Alice and her generosity." Esme poked through the refrigerator. "I know it's not exciting, but what about some chicken and rice tonight? Has she eaten anything for you?"

"A bite of oatmeal this morning, and even that was a challenge." Edward rubbed his face. Maybe Esme would be willing to try feeding Wisp tonight. He definitely wasn't looking forward to doing it again. "She's afraid, I think. You know, that she'll just be sick if she eats."

"Poor baby. Well, if she kept a bite down, that's a start. Fluids?"

"She's still taking tiny sips, but she's drinking. I'm not too worried."

"Mm. I got some 7-Up, even though the meds seem to be settling her stomach fairly well. Maybe she'll like it."

As Esme started the rice, Edward told her about his conversations with both Rose and Emmett. "I don't know," he said, opening a cold can of 7-Up and pouring about half of it in a plastic cup. "I don't like the idea of her picture out there in the media. I just..." He shook his head. "James said something during his interview with the prosecutor—you know, when they denied him a plea bargain? I can't get it out of my head."

"What did he say?"

Edward stared out the window at the rapidly-darkening woods. He could still hear perfectly how James had sounded, arguing with the man who would decide his fate. "He said that maybe someone was looking for her, but if so, it wasn't her family." It was hard to explain exactly what about that statement made the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen. When he said it to Esme, it didn't sound the way it sounded in his head. "I don't know, just...the way he said it. We know he has at least one accomplice out there. He hasn't been in touch with anyone while he's in prison, not even his family. But if we put her picture out there...what if someone sees it who shouldn't? What if someone finds her, and it turns out she was better off lost?"

Esme turned from the stove and studied him as he flicked on the light. "You're in a difficult situation." Her voice was gentle. "I don't think there are necessarily any right or wrong answers. It's a matter of priorities. Emmett's priority is to solve the case he's been given—to find whoever did this to her, and bring them to justice. I know he's also concerned that she might not be the only victim. He has to worry about the potential of other girls still trapped wherever our Wisp came from, and their needs. Their safety. You—I know you want those answers for her, too, but it's not your first priority. You're concerned about this one girl, her day to day life and her future. You're worried about things that are less important to Emmett as a police officer, though I _know_ that as your friend he's worried, too. You want her to be happy, and safe. You want her life to be as free of stress as possible, and bringing in the media is not the way to go if you want to reduce stress." She smiled softly at her son—a little sad, a little wistful. "I think, if Scott agrees with the police, you won't have much choice. So the question will be how to handle this, going forward. How to keep her as sheltered as possible from the worst parts of humanity."

Yeah, that's pretty much what Edward thought. He didn't like it, but he was going to have to live with it. Scott would almost certainly agree with the police chief's recommendation, and his job going forward would be to do his best to keep her safe and happy while the media sharks circled. It was a juicy story; they wouldn't be able to resist.

"Did they say whether they think offering a reward for information would be helpful?" Esme asked as she pulled chicken breasts from the refrigerator. "Carlisle and I would be happy to."

"He didn't say. I...really don't know. I mean, on the one hand, you'll have crooks trying everything to get the reward. On the other hand, it might tease out someone who knows something but otherwise wouldn't give a shit about coming forward."

"Well, I'll mention it the next time I see one of them." Esme nodded to the cup on the counter. "Take that on up to her. She should be drinking as much as possible."

Edward went, but his mind was still weighted down with unpleasant thoughts. Was it so wrong, he wondered, to want to keep her safe? To worry about each new experience, every stranger they let into her life? He trusted his aunt and uncle, Emmett and Rosalie, Alice and Jasper, with his life—and, perhaps more importantly, with Wisp's. But anyone else... He shook his head a little, trying to clear it as he entered the bedroom. Wisp's pale little face glowed pale blue in the reflected light from the DVD player. He flipped on his reading light to give her a little more illumination without the harshness of the overhead, then caught her hand and placed the cup in it.

"Try that," he told her. "You need to keep drinking."

She obeyed, as she always did: as she had been trained to do. Whether it had been beaten into her, brainwashed, or both, she was a pliant, malleable little thing. She did not fight. She did not try to protect herself. He'd only ever seen her protest—really protest—when she thought Pet was in danger. She did for her cat what she would not do for herself.

As her lips touched the bubbly liquid, Wisp jerked back. She stared into the cup for a long moment, then stuck her finger in and licked. Edward chuckled and left her to it, heading back downstairs to see if Esme needed any help. He was a little uncomfortable about how much she was taking care of him. He was a grown man, after all. But he knew it was for Wisp's benefit more than his, and he couldn't refuse either of them when it was clear Wisp had latched onto Esme, and Esme to Wisp. She was, in some ways, the daughter his aunt had never had. And no one deserved a mother's love more than Wisp did.

When he asked, though, Esme said that dinner was nearly done. She poured herself more hot water for tea, then added that he could feed Pet if he really wanted to help.

So Edward set about finding one of Pet's dishes and fishing a cat food can out of the cupboard. He spooned the smelly stuff into the dish and set it on the floor, a little surprised that he'd managed to pop the top of the can without her noticing. She always came running when she heard that sound.

"Pet," he called. He doubted the cat knew its name, but he _wasn't_ going to go around making kissy noises and calling, "Kitty, kitty." He did have some dignity left.

But the cat didn't come.

He looked everywhere—under the beds, in the closets, behind the couch. Cupboards. The bathtub. The top of the tall bookshelf. He looked everywhere he could think of, then looked again.

No cat.

"You don't think she could have run out when you came in, do you?" he asked finally, pausing in the doorway to the kitchen. He was filled with a nervous sort of energy, chemicals seeping into his system as the magnitude of the potential problem sank in.

Esme paled. "I...don't know. I didn't _see_ her, but I was carrying bags, and..." She put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, no. Edward."

Oh no was right, Edward thought. The cat was missing. How the hell was he supposed to explain that to Wisp?

* * *

A/N: Um...


	37. Chapter 37

A/N: Ohai duckies! Your response to the last chapter blew me away! So many people concerned for one little fictional kitten! You are the best readers, I swear. The interest you take in my little Wisp really blows me away.

This quick update is thanks to twilover76...happy birthday, darling! Is everyone reading her new WIP, Changing My Course? I think I'm in love with her Edward!

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

Esme implemented "Operation Distract Wisp" while Edward took a flashlight and headed into the dark to look for her cat. They couldn't lose Pet. Wisp would be devastated And how was he supposed to explain it to her—explain that her cat was missing, and might never come back? How did one even begin to explain uncertainty to a girl who seemed to view the world in very black-and-white terms. People were either "good" or "bad;" for her there was no middle ground. So how was he supposed to explain a concept like "maybe"? Shaking his head, he flicked on the light and played its beam over the gravel in front of the cabin.

No cat.

He cursed Alice in his head for getting a black cat—any other color would have been far easier to find. He cursed himself for having the idea to get a stupid cat in the first place. Wisp couldn't deal with this. She was still so sick, and emotionally she was beyond fragile. She loved her human family, but there was a bond with the cat that no one else could supplant. She felt a...a kinship with the little creature; that much was obvious. Pet was her baby. She loved spoiling that thing rotten.

Around the cabin he went, once, twice, and then a third time, more desperate with each step to find that obnoxious little ball of fur. There were coyotes in the woods, and wolves. One little half-grown kitten didn't stand a chance.

He scanned the flashlight up into the trees. No Pet. He looked for any holes in the outside of the building she might have crawled through. Nothing. He even got a ladder from the toolshed (no cat in the shed, just spiders) and climbed onto the roof, though how Pet could possibly have got up there, he had no idea.

"Damn you, cat," he growled as he climbed down again. And of course she wore no collar, no identification tag, because Wisp wouldn't allow it. If someone found her, they'd never know where she belonged.

Finally, after more than an hour's search, Edward had to admit that the cat just wasn't there. Not that he could find, and it wasn't coming when called, either. He even shed the last of his dignity and made kissing noises. No cat.

When he went back inside and closed the door behind him, Esme was waiting. "I looked in here again, too," she said with a little shake of her head. "I can't find her."

Edward tossed the flashlight on a chair and rubbed his face with his hands. "Okay. Okay, let's think logically. She's not here, and Wisp can't know that—not yet. Not until we know for sure she's not coming back." He was actually glad for the meds that made Wisp slow and sleepy—her routine was all fucked up, and she didn't seem to expect anything to be normal. Usually she put Pet to bed in the living room every night—not that the cat ever stayed in her plush little bed when she was put there—with plenty of cuddles and kisses. That definitely wasn't happening tonight. Edward wondered how long they had before she noticed the absence of her pet. A day? Two? More? If she was healthy and alert, they'd barely have an hour. Wherever Wisp was, Pet was, too.

"What are you going to do?" Esme was pale.

Edward exhaled slowly. "Tonight, as much distraction as necessary. Tomorrow—I guess I'll look again once it's light, and we should make some posters to put out." Not that he thought Pet would get anywhere near close to town. It was too far for a little kitten, especially one not used to the outdoors. "How's she doing?"

"She's fine. I gave her dinner and she did eat a little. When the movie ended she wanted to watch it again, and I didn't see the harm."

That was the third time in a row, but Edward didn't have it in him to object. Not when distraction was the most important thing. "Okay. Okay. Under normal circumstances Jasper and Scott agree that a routine is good for her. Maybe, if we're lucky, the lack of routine will throw her off enough that she doesn't notice Pet's gone." He tugged at his hair, hard. "Esme, what if we can't find that stupid cat? She'll be heartbroken."

"Let's try not to worry about that until it happens. She's sleepy and disoriented, and right now fully captivated by the DVD player. I think we have some time."

Edward released a breath. "I usually give her a bath at night, so let's scrap that today. No evening routine." He sat down slowly on the arm of a chair. "She'll go crazy, Esme."

"But she isn't yet. One thing at a time."

* * *

Wisp fell asleep during her third viewing of Peter Pan, and Edward slowly removed the backrest from under her head, replacing it with her pillow. He stroked her warm cheek and picked up the empty cup by her side. Esme said not to worry yet, but how could he not? She was emotionally as delicate as...he didn't know what. Something delicate. An eggshell, maybe. A glass sculpture. A desert ecosystem. There were very, very few people he really believed she trusted and loved—himself, Rosalie, Esme...and that might be it. She liked Alice and Emmett well enough, but she was still hesitant around them, and neither Jasper nor Carlisle had her trust. Not after the office visit with Jasper and the Bible incident with Carlisle. Garrett and Scott she'd only met twice.

Then there was Pet.

That cat was hers in a way nothing else in the world had ever been. More than her art supplies, more even than the clothes on her back. It was a part of her. With Pet, Wisp wasn't the one needing care; she got to give it. Edward had no idea what a psychologist would say, but to him, that seemed pretty important. For that thing, the one creature in the world that needed her, to go missing? As he looked at her sleeping face, he really, really didn't want to find out what would happen. Would she feel like she had failed? That she hadn't lived up to her obligation to the animal? What would that guilt do to her?

"Sleep," he said gently, tracing one fingertip along the feather-light softness of her hairline. "I promise, I'll do all I can to find her for you."

Even as he said it, Edward knew that his promise might not be enough.

He spent the rest of the evening making and printing missing cat flyers, then putting them in protective plastic covers so they didn't disintegrate in the ubiquitous Olympic rain. He posted notices on Craigslist and the local animal shelter's website, then emailed everyone in town he knew, attaching a photo of Wisp's kitten. He wasn't sure it would do any good, but he had to try. For Wisp, he had to try.

The next morning dawned dark and wet, and Edward tucked an extra blanket over Wisp's sleeping form after rousing her just long enough to give her her meds. He dropped a kiss in her tousled hair, then headed out in the rain to look for her cat and put up posters.

When he returned, muddy, wet, and empty-handed, Esme was in the kitchen, as he expected. Her eyes were a question he had to answer with a shake of his head. No cat.

"Is she awake?"

Esme shook her head in return. "I went up to check on her first thing, and haven't heard a peep since." She was slicing up a cantaloupe and there was whole wheat bread for toast. "Do you want to wake her?"

"I don't know. " Edward went to pull at his hair, but it was a soggy, sodden mess. "She shouldn't sleep all day. But if she's asleep, she's not thinking about her cat."

"We could try another movie."

Edward's phone rang before he could answer, and he dug it out of his pocket. Emmett. "Hey."

"Hey, man. How's our little Wispy girl doing? Find the cat yet?"

"She's asleep, and no. Fuck. What the hell am I going to do?"

Esme didn't tell him to watch his language.

"You could always get her another cat."

Edward barked out a short, sarcastic laugh, and he saw Esme shake her head slowly. "Not gonna work, Em. She likes this one."

"You could get another black one, like how my mom used to swap out my goldfish when they died. I never noticed."

"A cat is not a goldfish, and Wisp is smarter than you. She'd notice."

"Well, did you put up flyers?"

"Yeah, and I checked with the animal shelter and the town vet, too. Nobody's seen anything."

"Mm."

That was Emmett's thinking voice, and Edward was instantly on alert. "What's that mean?"

"You just take care of baby Wispy. Lemme see what I can do."

Edward didn't argue with him. Whatever Emmett was planning, ridiculous or otherwise, he wasn't going to turn it down. Anything to get Wisp's cat back.

"You look like you didn't sleep well," Esme said after he hung up. She traced a finger under his eye.

"I didn't." He leaned back against the counter and shook his head at the offer of a mug for tea. He was sick of tea, and wanted coffee. More than that, he wanted that stupid cat back so he didn't have to try to explain to Wisp that she was gone. "I watched her. I tried to read. Esme, she won't be able to handle this."

"It won't be pleasant, certainly, but she'll get through it. Loss is never easy. She has you, though—she has all of us."

"But it's different. That cat is different."

"I know, baby. I know." She gave him a wan smile, then nudged him toward the door. "Go take a shower and warm up. You've been out in the cold too long."

Edward did. When he went upstairs to get dry clothes, Wisp was still sleeping deeply on her air mattress next to his bed. There was soft pink color in her cheeks—better than yesterday. But there was no medicine to cure what she would feel when she realized her cat was missing.

And Edward still had no idea how to explain this to her, or help her through it. He wracked his brain as he undressed and stepped into the shower, but nothing came. If Wisp had a shrink, he'd call for some crisis control. But he'd neglected to find her one, preferring to wait. Now he was starting to regret that choice.

As he rinsed shampoo from his hair, Edward heard the bathroom door open. Through the opaque glass of the shower door, he saw a blurry little dark splotch creep across the floor toward the toilet. Part of him was glad she'd woken up on her own, but he still felt his stomach drop out of his body, a physical reaction to the thought of keeping her occupied and distracted for as long as possible. How long would it last? Until tonight? Tomorrow morning?

The toilet flushed, and Edward watched as the little splotch that was a crawling Wisp made its way back across the bathroom. She paused and seemed to settle—thankfully not right outside the shower door this time—and Edward took a deep breath as he shut off the water and opened the door just enough to grab his towel before swiftly drying off in the stall.

When he stepped out, towel wrapped firmly around his waist, Wisp was sitting on the bathmat, leaning against the side of the tub. Her cheek rested on the cold, hard lip, which couldn't be comfortable. "Hi, honey," he said, watching as she blinked blearily. "Did you want a bath?"

"Bath," she agreed. She rubbed her palms over her face, though Edward knew it wouldn't help her wake up. Not until they weaned her off her medication.

He started the hot water for her, then picked up his clean clothes. "I'm going to go change, okay? I'll be right back."

She was already pulling at her shirt, struggling to undress herself. Edward left her to it, hustling to his room to dress as she undressed. He didn't really want her sitting in the bath by herself when she was so out of it. One slip was all it would take for her to seriously hurt herself.

She was fine, though, when he returned to her, sitting quietly in the tub, poking her toes under the hot rush of water.

"Hey, pretty girl," Edward said softly as he settled on the bathmat. "How are you feeling?"

She didn't answer, nor did he expect her to, but he did get a sleepy smile. Her smiles did something dangerous to his insides. He also hadn't forgotten that her first laugh had been at Pet's antics.

"I'll do everything I can to find her for you," he promised, though Wisp didn't acknowledge his words. Something, there had to be something they could do. She couldn't lose her pet.

She stayed in the water for almost an hour, dozing in the warmth after Edward helped her wash, and he suspected she only agreed to get out when her bath became uncomfortably cold. Her fingers were wrinkly, and she laughed a little at how they looked as Edward dried her off. He dressed her in clean fleece pajamas, then took her back upstairs to her mattress, where there were no cat toys, no little cat bed to remind her of the missing kitten. She settled down easily—unlike a small child, being still and quiet came naturally to her—and Edward saw her eyes light when she found the black rectangle of her new DVD player.

"Peter?"

Her wistful tone was too sweet; he couldn't deny her a movie. "Let's try a different story, okay?" He chose one at random and slid it into the player.

"Edward?" Esme called up the stairs. "Can you come here for a second?"

"You enjoy your movie. I'll be back, okay?" He hit the play button, kissed the top of her damp head, and headed downstairs.

Esme was at the front door. "Look," she said, eyes bright with what looked like unshed tears.

A number of cars had pulled into the gravel clearing in front of the little cabin. He recognized Emmett's Jeep, but the others were unfamiliar.

"Heard you might be in need of a search crew." Emmett grinned from under the hood of his raincoat. A small group of men and women from Forks and the surrounding county stood in raingear, carrying daypacks, next to the house. Edward blinked slowly, not quite processing what was going on.

"They came to help," Esme whispered. "Edward, they came to help find Pet."

Emmett had called together as many of the local search and rescue volunteers as he could, and they were more than willing to lend a hand even though pets did not fall under their purview.

"If there's a black cat anywhere around here," a woman said, "we'll find it." She grinned good-naturedly.

Emmett had gridded a map of the area surrounding the cabin, and the little group split up to start checking the grid, square by square.

"Oh," Esme breathed, and one tear dropped to her cheek. "Edward, that's so sweet."

It was beyond sweet. It was...Edward didn't have words. Emmett had asked, and the community responded. On the one hand, it was just a lost cat. Cats went missing every day. But on the other hand, it was the key to a fragile girl's psyche. When he thought about it that way, Pet became just about priceless.

"C'mon," Emmett said, slapping a hat on Edward's head. "You and me are gonna search the outside of the house again."

"I'll have something warm for you when you get back," Esme promised.

Whether they found the cat or not, Edward didn't know when he'd ever felt more grateful.

Esme returned to the kitchen, opening cupboards, checking to see what she might be able to make for so large a group. She and Rosalie kept the cabin's kitchen stocked since Edward couldn't take Wisp to the store with him, but not with enough of any one thing to feed a crowd. She glanced at the ceiling, but the girl upstairs was silent. Edward had set her up with a movie—surely she'd be fine for the few minutes it would take to run to the big house and back? Esme knew she had the makings for several panfuls of creamy chicken pasta or a couple of pots of soup. Either would be good to feed the cold, wet volunteers when they got back.

So, after making sure everything in the kitchen was turned off, Esme headed out of the cabin and turned down the wooded path that led to her house. Wisp would be fine, and Edward and Emmett were nearby.

* * *

Edward and Emmett were up on the roof, peering down the chimney with flashlights, when the screaming started.

Moving slow enough to cross the roof and get down the ladder safely was one of the hardest things Edward had ever done. Once on the ground, he pulled open the front door and pounded up the stairs, ignoring the mud he was tracking all over the carpet. Wisp's cries were high-pitched and strong, and when he entered his bedroom he saw her sitting up on her air mattress, knees tucked to her chest, hugging herself tightly. Her eyes were wide and wild, and Edward was careful as he dropped to the floor next to her.

"Wisp, honey, what's wrong? What happened?" He reached out and took her shoulder, feeling her tremble under his hand. She was warm, but her face was stark white.

"Mother!" The desperation in her voice hurt something in his gut. He tried to pull her close, to soothe her the only way he really knew how, but she pushed at him.

She _pushed_ at him. Edward dropped his arms, staring at the desolate girl keening on her mattress. She'd never done that before. Not like this. Never. It felt like someone had punched him. His Wisp, the girl who cried for him and refused to sleep alone, now seemed to want nothing to do with him.

"Mother!" She was sobbing, and Edward didn't know why. The sounds she made when she had a serious meltdown were heartbreaking. Stomach-churning. They hurt his ears, so high-pitched and loud, but they hurt more where his heart pounded under his ribs.

"Is Esme in the kitchen?" he snapped at the bulk of Emmett panting in the doorway.

Emmett shook his head.

Where the hell had Esme gone? He reached for his hair and somehow ended up fighting with his hat instead. "She's here, honey. Little Wisp, she'll be back, I promise. Just calm down, please. I don't know how to help you if you won't let me touch you."

"Dude, look."

Emmett stepped closer and pointed to the DVD player. Edward cursed as he caught the tail end of the infamous scene where Bambi lost his mother.

"Oh hell." He hadn't even thought about that when he turned the movie on, he'd just grabbed a case. Wasn't the name "Disney" supposed to mean safe? He slapped the player shut, then grabbed her waist and pulled her into his lap. "Come here, Wisp. I'm so, so sorry. Fuck, I should have thought about it before I put that movie in." _Alice_ should have thought about it before buying it in the first place, he thought, but saying so was pointless.

She pushed at him again, her skinny arms struggling against him. "Mother," she pleaded. "Mother!"

"Call Esme," Edward grit out through his teeth, holding onto the girl in his lap. "Damn it, Emmett, get her up here!"

"On it." Emmett pulled out his phone, and Edward turned his entire attention back to the girl in his arms.

"Honey, come on. We'll get Esme here soon, but you've got to stop crying." He pulled her close, and she scrubbed her face against the wet shoulder of his jacket.

"No," she pleaded. "No, Edward! Mother!"

And he had no choice, though it broke him, but to let her go.

She dropped to her belly on the air mattress. Edward watched, unable to do anything, hating his helplessness in the face of her distress. Her cries were now muffled by the blankets, but it was cold comfort.

"Little Wisp, please. It's not real. You know it's not real—you have to know that." Didn't she? Couldn't she tell by the cartoonish nature of the drawings that nothing on that screen was real? He reached out, unable to help himself, and placed his palm carefully on her back. She didn't flinch away. Watching her closely for any sign of rejection, Edward rubbed a slow circle on the soft fleece of her shirt. She didn't stop crying, but she didn't push him away, either. He rubbed her back gently, hoping it was at least a little soothing. Her face remained buried in the blankets, her little body heaving with the force of her cries.

He dropped his hand, reaching for her socked foot instead, about to try the massage that seemed to soothe her after her nightmares, but the sound of quick feet on the stairs made him pause.

"Look what I found!" Emmett crowed.

Esme pushed past him, and Edward relinquished his spot next to the mattress, moving toward the end of the bed.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Esme put a gentle hand on the back of her head. "Wisp, baby, look at me."

She jerked up at the sound of the feminine voice, face red and wet, and the sob that tried to leave her mouth became a half-swallowed hiccup. "Mother!"

"I'm here, honey." Esme offered her arms and Wisp all but fell into her lap, gripping her waist tightly, burying her face in Esme's stomach. It was an awkward position and didn't look comfortable at all, but Esme stroked her hair slowly with one hand and held her shoulder with the other. "Were you scared? There's nothing to be afraid of here. Edward will keep you safe. We'll all keep you safe." She shot a questioning glance at her son.

"It's my fault," he muttered, barely audible over Wisp's hiccuping sobs. "I put Bambi on for her without thinking, and she freaked out."

"Oh. Oh, hon." She held Wisp tighter. "Poor thing."

"I don't get it." Emmett sat on the end of Edward's bed. "Don't lots of kids learn about death from Bambi?"

"She's not a kid, and she hasn't had a normal life. The thought of losing the people she loves is probably terrifying." Edward couldn't imagine just how terrifying. She _knew_ what it was like to live without love. More than any of them, she had a right to fear that sort of life. "Why do you think we're so freaked out about the cat? Fuck."

"Jeez, calm down, Ed. You know you're just pissed because she wanted Esme instead of you."

"Emmett, don't," Esme said quickly, but not quick enough. The words were out and they couldn't be taken back. "Edward, there's nothing to be upset about. She knew the mother in her movie was lost, and she wanted reassurance from a mother. Whatever else you are to her—and I believe you mean almost everything to her right now—you can't be that."

Edward knew that. He did. Wisp had been scared by a mother's loss in the film, which spurred a desperate desire for proof Esme hadn't also disappeared. He didn't mind that Esme was the one she was crying for. What he hated, and could admit he hated, was that she refused to take comfort from him even as an interim solution. Why had she pushed him away? Surely he could provide comfort even if he couldn't counter the source of her fear? Why had she refused?

"She's sick and overwrought right now," Esme said, watching Edward as she stroked Wisp's hair. "She loves you, Edward."

Yeah, he knew that. She loved him as much as she was capable of love. But it felt awful to hear her cry and know she didn't want his help.

"Come here, sweetheart," Esme crooned. "That can't be comfortable. Come sit with me, Wisp." She maneuvered around the huddled girl, somehow getting them both back on the mattress. She stretched out on her side and let Wisp cling to her. "I think maybe that's enough movies for today. We can try reading instead once you've calmed down a little."

Yeah, Edward thought, reading would be good. She loved books, but they didn't cause meltdowns. Not yet, anyway.

"Mother." Wisp's hiccuping sobs had slowly faded, becoming more hiccup and less sob, and much, much quieter. "Mother," she pleaded, her little knuckles white as she clutched Esme's sweater.

"I'm right here. We're all here. You're fine." Esme propped herself up on an elbow and hugged Wisp with her other arm. "See? Edward is here, too."

"Mother," Wisp insisted. "Gone."

This was a new word. Edward blinked. She hadn't said that before, as far as he knew.

"Gone? What's gone, Wisp? I'm here."

"Gone," Wisp repeated, and she released Esme's shirt long enough to point to the DVD player.

"Oh, honey. Yes. Mothers are very important people, maybe the most important in the world. But the thing about them is, they do go away. No one gets to keep a mother forever; that's not how it works."

"Mother."

"Yes. When they go away, what you're left with are your memories, and what they've taught you." Esme brushed Wisp's hair away from her sticky, damp face with a gentle hand. "Losing your mother is very hard, for adults as well as children. But the world doesn't end, even if it might feel that way for a while. You're still you. You are the memory she leaves for the world."

Edward didn't miss what Esme was really saying. It wasn't about an animated deer. She was warning Wisp—and him, too—that at some point she _would_ leave them. Right now Wisp could cry and Esme was there to soothe her, but one day she wouldn't be. One day, Wisp would have to learn to comfort herself.

"Mother. Rose."

"What about Rose, baby? She can't come see you right now. Not until you're feeling better."

"Rose," Wisp repeated, and she raised her hands up above herself in an arch, touching her fingertips together. "Rose. Mother. Wisp. Read."

Esme's brow furrowed. "We can't read with Rose today. I'm sorry, honey."

Wisp motioned again, then sat up and drew the top blanket over her head, holding it up with her hands and peeping out from under it. "Rose. Mother. Wisp. Read."

Esme blinked. A slow smile spread across her face. "Boys," she said, "I need your help."

The sheets Rosalie had tossed over the kitchen table to make a fort hadn't been moved—no one had bothered, too busy either being sick or caring for those who were. Edward held Wisp, who insisted on keeping Esme's hand, and Emmett dragged the air mattress, blankets tossed over his shoulder. They fixed up the space under the table just as Rose had and, once she was inside, much of the tension in her delicate body seemed to melt away. She rested her head in Esme's lap, allowed her mother-figure to draw folds of blanket over her, and sighed the deepest sigh Edward had ever heard from her. "Mother." There were dried tear-tracks on her cheeks, but she didn't seem to mind. "Rose?"

"No, honey. Rose can't come see you today," Esme repeated. "I'm sorry."

Edward straightened from his kneeling position outside the blanketed table. "Hang on. I have an idea."

He got his laptop and turned it on, then called Rosalie while it booted up. "You in front of your computer?"

"At work, yeah. Why?"

"Wisp had a meltdown. She wants you."

"Fuck," Rose said. "What's the computer got to do with it?"

"Well, you can't come see her in person, so..."

"Gotcha." Edward could hear the smile in her voice.

When he brought the computer to Esme, Rosalie's face was on the screen.

"Rose!" Wisp squealed, sitting up quickly. "Rose!"

"Hi, cutie. I've missed you."

Emmett pulled Edward away from the blanket-fort, which Edward knew without asking that he wasn't allowed to enter. There might as well be a big "Girls Only" sign pinned to the sheets. "I think the girls got this," he said, but he gave Edward a grin. "Sorry, man. I know that wasn't what you expected."

"Yeah." Edward stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was still wearing his wet, muddy raingear; he hoped Wisp hadn't been too uncomfortable when he tried to hold her. "I thought I knew better than to expect or assume anything with her, but I guess I was wrong. I thought I'd always be the place she looked to for comfort. Her safety."

Emmett scratched the back of his neck. "Looks like maybe she might need more than one."

"Mother." Wisp's soft voice piped from under the table. "Rose. Wisp." There was a pause. "Pet?"

Edward felt his stomach sink. There were searchers out in the woods, but it was too late. Their time was up.

Wisp's head poked out from the soft drape of sheets. "Pet," she called. "Pet?" She waited expectantly, but no cat came.

"Honey, come back and rest," Esme said. "Come here, Wisp."

Wisp stayed where she was. Those huge brown eyes found Edward's and he knelt next to the table again, almost numb with anxiety. "Pet?" she asked, holding out her hands.

He shook his head slowly. This was a terrible use of a new word. "Gone."

* * *

A/N: Umm...in retrospect, maybe this wasn't the fuzziest birthday chapter. Sorry, twilover76! Till next time, duckies! Mwah!


	38. Chapter 38

A/N: Okay, I was going to wait a full week, but I couldn't do it! Not with Packy sobbing all over Twitter, and then, today, someone created a Twitter account for Pet. That's right, Pet is on Twitter. I didn't do it and I don't know who did, but it's soooo adorable! You can follow her at WispsPet.

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

"No." Wisp shook her head slowly, huge brown eyes never leaving his face. "No, Edward. Pet." She held her hands out farther.

God, was she _trying_ to kill him? He took her hands in his and squeezed them gently. "I'm sorry. So sorry. But it's true. Pet is gone." He supposed there was still a chance she might turn up or the search crew might find her, but as of right now, she was well and truly gone.

"No." She pushed at his hands, dropping to all fours and scooting away from him. "Pet!" she called, raising her voice. "Pet!"

Esme crawled out from under the table just as Edward heard Rosalie's voice from the computer. "Fuck this," Rose spat. "I'm coming over."

"Edward?" Esme straightened but he stayed where he was, kneeling next to the kitchen table. "Should we stop her?"

He watched dully as Wisp started a very methodical search of every part of the kitchen she could reach—lower cupboards, recycling bin, trash can. She crawled into the living room, still calling out a worried little treble for her cat. "No," he said finally. "Let her look. I don't think she wants to believe me, so let her see for herself. I think it will do less harm than trying to contain her at this point."

So they watched, unable to do anything, as Wisp poked through all the little hidden places in the cabin, her cries for her kitten growing more frantic with each minute that rolled by. She reached up from her knees and pulled open the closet door, throwing Edward's shoes out of the way as she searched every dark corner. She felt under the couch, sticking her skinny little arm as far underneath as she could, and even lifted each individual cushion, as if she thought her cat might have curled up underneath one.

When there was nowhere left to search, she just started over again.

Edward didn't know what to do. He wasn't equipped to handle shit like this; he was a sociologist, an academic, a researcher. He wasn't a therapist. He wasn't a social worker, or a parent. What the hell was he supposed to do? She was crying now as she continued her hopeless search for her cat, and he could see in the slump of her shoulders that she knew—she knew she wasn't going to find it. And yet she kept looking. The fierce spark of hope he'd always cherished about her wouldn't let her give up.

"I think that's enough, Edward," Esme said after a while. "She knows the cat isn't here. This isn't doing anyone any good."

She was probably right. Edward could acknowledge that. But something in him really wanted to see Wisp accept that fact on her own—stop her search, move on to whatever the next step in her grieving process would be. And yet, something else in him knew she wouldn't. Not on her own. That spark inside her, the hope she refused to relinquish...this is what had kept her strong for so long. It was what allowed her to take a chance on him when he first found her, to attempt to trust instead of curling into a little ball and falling apart. It was the strongest, sweetest thing about her, and he knew that stubborn flame wouldn't just disappear. She loved Pet far too much, and she wasn't about to admit that the cat was truly gone.

"Wisp, honey." He knelt in front of her, forcing her to stop that shuffling, dejected crawl across the carpet. "Please, you have to stop."

She attempted to move around him, but he took her sharp little shoulders in his hands, holding her still. "No. Stay here with me. Look—fuck." This was too hard. Why had he thought giving her a cat was a good idea? Cats did shit like this. They snuck outside. They hid, they got lost, run over by cars, hunted by everything bigger than them. They bit, they scratched, couldn't really be trained, and what were they good for? Nothing. When he added up all the trouble that cat had caused—meltdowns over its food, its litterbox, and now this—was it really worth it? Was the love she'd given, the comfort she'd received, enough to outweigh all the bad?

Edward didn't know anymore.

She pulled fretfully against his grasp, lower lip trembling, cheeks wet. "Pet," she insisted, trying to tug herself free. "Pet!"

"I know, little Wisp, I know you want Pet back. But she's gone, sweetheart. I'm sorry, but you're going to have to accept it eventually."

She shook her head furiously, which wasn't a good idea in her medicated state. Even on all fours she staggered, almost toppling as her equilibrium disappeared. Edward couldn't stand it anymore. He sat back and pulled her body into his arms, holding her firmly.

"You can cry," he told her, wrapping her as tightly as he dared in his arms. "You can get mad at me if you want. You can do whatever you need to do, sweetheart, but you have to stop looking for her. She isn't here."

"No, Edward!" Wisp shoved at him, but this time he tried to keep hold of her. Letting her continue this fruitless search wasn't helpful. "No!"

"I'm sorry." He hugged her skinny frame close. "I'm sorrier than I can say, but we have to face facts here. Pet is gone."

When her attempts to free herself didn't work, Wisp lowered her head to his arm and bit.

"Ow!"

His grip loosened enough for her to pull away, and she backed herself quickly across the floor. Before he or Esme could stop her, she wedged herself behind the couch, curled in a little ball—exactly where she'd been the first time he'd ever seen her conscious. She wept brokenly, freely; the cries of someone who had no clue or care about decorum, or embarrassment.

Fuck.

Edward rubbed his forearm slowly. She had a strong little jaw. There was no way she could have broken skin through the layers of his clothing, but he'd probably have a bruise by morning.

He didn't care.

The pain felt...not good, exactly, but certainly deserved. He'd done this. Everything—her pain, her fear—it was all his fault. He should never have given her a cat in the first place. He shouldn't have let it sneak away, if that's what had happened. And he knew better than to try to restrain her; he did. It wasn't just that she didn't want him near. When she hurt and she refused to let him help her...he didn't know what to do with that. The guilt, the feeling of responsibility weighed down on his shoulders, was almost enough to make him crumble. She was in more pain than he'd maybe ever seen before, and there was nothing he could do to help...because she wouldn't _let_ him.

"I'm sorry." The words were a breath, a strangled whisper. The only thing he had left to offer.

She ignored him.

"Edward." Esme touched his shoulder, then wound her arm around his. "Edward, let's give her some space. She needs to grieve."

"I don't want her to hurt like this!" It wasn't _fair_. She didn't deserve this. After all she'd been through, every loss prior to this, it just wasn't fair. Yeah, he got that life wasn't—couldn't be—sweet and fluffy all the time. Life wasn't a Disney movie.

Fuck, maybe it was. One ripple of sarcastic laughter jerked through him. He was throwing that fucking DVD in the trash later.

Once he figured out what the hell to do with Wisp.

The door slammed open, and Edward wasn't all that surprised to see Rosalie stride inside, followed by a dark-haired woman he did not know. Her face was heavily scarred, but he spared the stranger only a passing glance as Rose pushed him out of the way and knelt beside the couch, peering behind it at the weeping girl. He stumbled back, then fell into a chair and didn't bother getting up again. His hands wove into his hair and he dropped his elbows to his knees.

"Wisp, look at me."

Rose's voice wasn't...wasn't harsh exactly, but it was firmer than Edward would ever even think to use with Wisp. His eyebrows lowered and he raised his head, but what could he do? Wisp didn't want him.

Rosalie's hand reached out and caught Wisp's chin, tipping the girl's head up. "Look at me, Wisp. It's Rose. Don't you dare go all rag doll again, do you hear me?"

"Pet!" Wisp pulled her chin away. "Pet!"

"You can't have Pet right now. I understand that you're upset, and you have every right to be. _Own_ that emotion. Don't hide from it. Don't hide from us."

"Pet!"

Rose sat back on her heels and looked at the stranger in Edward's living room. "Emily?"

"She's nonverbal?"

"Pretty much."

"Then, if explaining isn't going to do anything, let her cry. Let her choose when she's ready to come to you. Forcing her won't fix anything."

Rose backed off and stood up, but she cast an anxious glance back toward the girl huddled behind the couch. "She did this thing when she was upset before. She went all...I don't know, catatonic? Wouldn't eat. Wouldn't acknowledge anything around her. She just sat there slumped over like a rag doll. I don't want that to happen again."

"Well, she's not doing it now." The scarred woman looked over the back of the couch at Wisp for a moment, then retreated.

It was true—Wisp, though she was hiding, certainly had not fallen back into the indifference that threatened her health and scared Edward so badly. She was crying, making plenty of noise. She had not stopped speaking, though the only word she cared to utter at the moment was her cat's name. Her clothes remained on her body. Rose had a right to be worried, but at the moment everything seemed...not okay, exactly, but...they weren't quite in crisis. Yet..

"Hi," the woman said, holding out a hand to Esme. "I'm sorry we had to meet like this. I'm Rosalie's friend, Emily Young."

"Doctor Young," Rose added.

Edward's eyes narrowed as he trained them on Rose. Doctor? She hadn't said anything about her friend being a doctor.

"Don't look at me like that," Rosalie snapped. "I know what you're thinking, and it doesn't fucking matter right now. Can we please focus on the crying child?"

"Esme Cullen." Esme took Emily's hand for a moment. "My son, Edward. I'm sorry, we're all somewhat at a loss right now..."

"I know." Emily's glance was compassionate, though Edward couldn't quite say that she smiled. Not really. "I'm here to help if I can. Rose is worried, and you know she doesn't really do that."

Rosalie didn't even make a face at her friend. Everyone knew it was true.

Wisp's keening, heartbroken sobs filled and overfilled the room.

"I'm sorry," Esme apologized again, rubbing her hands slowly against the thighs of her jeans. "I'm...I don't know what...can we offer you—"

"No," Emily said, "it's fine. I understand. This isn't the time for playing hostess, and I don't expect it." She paused. "And, despite what Rose said, I'm not a doctor."

She wasn't? Then why had Rosalie said...

"I'm a—get ready for this, it's a lot of letters—PMHNP. Psychiatric mental health nurse practitioner. It's a mouthful, I know."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Esme asked, and she cast a worried glance at her son. Edward had not moved and he continued to stare at the floor, head in his hands.

"Think of me as a therapist who can also prescribe medication and provide diagnoses." Emily smiled. "Rose and I met in a therapy group for survivors of abuse. My past experiences made me want to help others, you know?"

Edward heard her words, but they didn't really sink in. He was...he didn't know. Checked-out, maybe. He couldn't even dredge up irritation at Rosalie for throwing this therapist person on them without warning him first. All he wanted was for those hopeless sobs from behind the couch to stop. He needed her to be okay, needed to feel the warmth of her body in his arms, where he could offer her tactile comfort since words were lost on her. But she didn't want him. She'd pushed him away, struggled—even bit him. He got the message loud and clear.

The fact that she didn't seem to want Rosalie, either, didn't make him feel any better.

"Let's give her some space." Emily glanced at the couch and then away again. "Is there somewhere else we can talk?"

The cabin was small, and they ended up seated around the kitchen table—still covered with sheets, the air mattress sticking out at one end. Emily didn't seem fazed at all, and she and Rosalie waved away Esme's offer of tea. Edward joined them, though he said nothing. What could he say? What did any of it matter, now? Wisp was miserable, and she didn't want anything to do with him. Once her social worker learned how badly he'd fucked up, he'd take her away. He'd put her back in that hospital. The last few months were for nothing.

But, though Edward didn't talk, the others did. Esme and Rosalie explained everything they knew about Wisp, all that had happened since Edward found her. Emmett jumped in from time to time, but for the most part the three women did their best to talk over the heartbroken sounds from the other room. Edward could tell when he glanced up that both Rose and Esme felt very much like he did—like they wanted to end this farce and go to her, pick her up and rock her until she quieted. But Wisp wasn't a colicky baby. She was a young woman who had just lost something she couldn't afford to lose.

* * *

Her cries finally trailed off late in the afternoon, and Edward hastened to check on her, to make sure she hadn't fallen back into the "rag doll" state, as Rosalie called it. When he peered over the couch, though, she was just asleep, tucked in a ball, wedged tightly against the wall. He wanted to pick her up and move her somewhere more comfortable, but Emily didn't think it was a good idea.

"You don't know how deeply she's sleeping," she said. "I'd recommend letting her rest, and seeing what she does when she wakes up."

Edward listened. She wasn't officially Wisp's therapist or anything, but he didn't know what to do anymore. Everything he tried only seemed to make things worse. Neither Esme nor Rose seemed to have any better answers than he did, so fuck, why not listen to the strange, scarred woman? She couldn't possibly make things any worse.

The search crew reported back to the cabin in pairs throughout the afternoon. No one had found anything. Esme and Emmett thanked everyone for their time, and Emmett headed back to the station as soon as the last of his searchers checked in. He had more to think about than one lost little cat.

The mood in the little cabin was somber as darkness settled once again. Esme brought up the question of dinner several times, but no one felt like eating. They were all on edge, listening, waiting for Wisp to wake. He had no idea what would happen then, and no one else seemed to, either.

"Let her come to you," Emily said, repeating her advice from earlier. "This is a huge loss, and I can't imagine how confused she must be. Let her do what she can on her own. I think she'll let you know when she's ready to let people in again."

Edward grunted.

"Edward," Esme said softly, "you can't blame yourself."

He barked out a rough laugh. Yes, he damn well could blame himself, and he had no plans to do otherwise. Whose fault could it possibly be, if not his? Nobody else had anything to do with that goddamn cat except Alice, and she'd only been the messenger. The delivery girl. And it certainly wasn't Wisp's fault. She couldn't help her emotional reaction—nor should she. Her baby was gone.

"These things...sometimes they happen, and it's nobody's fault. She's a strong girl. Have some faith in her—she's made it this far."

Edward closed his eyes. That was enough. He wasn't interested in a lecture from his mother—not at his age, not in this situation, no matter how well-meaning. She didn't understand; how could she? Wisp wasn't her responsibility. She could spout all the platitudes she wanted; it wouldn't change a goddamn thing. He stood abruptly. "Excuse me." His voice was tight, close to breaking, which was how he felt in general. He needed to be away from these women—away from everyone. Only the memory of how it felt for Wisp to struggle against him kept him from going to her, picking her up, and taking her upstairs with him. Edward honestly didn't know if he could stand that again. Not now.

So, though it was the last thing he wanted to do, Edward left her to sleep where she was, still wedged behind the couch, and went upstairs alone.

"Edward," Rose muttered. "I'm sorry, Em. He's kind of moody."

Emily squeezed her hand. "Don't worry about it. He's hurting right now."

"The way he loves that girl...it's beautiful," Esme murmured. "She couldn't have asked for a better champion. I just worry for him, and I know Carlisle does, too."

"Mm. I can't say much right now—I haven't observed them together, or heard from Edward himself. But, as much as he may not like the recommendation, I suspect some time apart might be good for him. A relationship—any sort of relationship—can't work if one person is subsumed completely into the other. Just because he's a caretaker doesn't mean he can stop being Edward."

Rose stretched out in her chair, one hand resting on her belly. "Yeah, we've tried that. I told you I come over every other day—or I did, before they got sick—and give him a break. We've pushed him to cool it, too, you know? Not to obsess so much. But the man doesn't listen."

"He's always been that way," Esme said softly. "He's not, perhaps, what you'd call a well-rounded individual. He knows what he wants, and no one can really tell him differently. Well..." She paused. "Carlisle and I probably can. But we won't."

"I'm sorry this is such a difficult situation for you all." Emily tapped her fingers on the blanketed table. "I really am."

"So are we." Rose made a face. "I was hoping to kind of ease him into the idea of you, instead of just dumping you on each other. That girl needs a therapist, and he's so afraid of bringing new people into her life that he's stalling. I mean, yeah, the choice of shrink should be his, but—"

"Actually," Emily said with a little smile, "the choice should be hers. Her guardian and her social worker ideally should have a voice, too, but the final say ought to be hers. No matter what Edward decides, it's Wisp who needs to be able to trust her therapist fully."

"I just think—I mean, you know shit, Em. You get it. And I know no one can really understand what she's been through, but it feels like you'd do better than some dude whose daddy put him through shrink school and then set him up with a private practice, you know? You haven't just seen shit secondhand. You know how it feels."

"Yeah." Emily touched her fingertips lightly to the scarring on her face. "I really, really do."

"So...what now? Do we just...let her cry? Because I don't think she's done with that. Once she wakes up, she'll be at it again." Rosalie rubbed her temples. She couldn't blame Wisp—she couldn't. But that didn't mean the noises that girl made were pleasant.

"Actually, she needs her meds." Esme glanced at the refrigerator where the liquid medications were kept. "If nothing else, they'll help her sleep better."

So Rose measured out two syringes, one of each of Wisp's medications, and Esme knelt by the side of the couch, reaching out with one hesitant hand to the girl tucked so tightly behind it.

"Wisp, honey. I know you don't want to be bothered right now, but you need to take your medicine. I'm sorry. We won't disturb you after this, I promise."

But Wisp jerked back from the gentle touch on her arm, blinking away momentary confusion. Esme could see the second her memory of the day returned. "No," she said, and she pushed fretfully at the hand holding out the syringe. "No."

"You need it, baby. I know you're upset, and I'm sorry about that. You need this, though." Esme held it out again.

"No!" Wisp's fretful voice rose in both volume and pitch. She wormed her way backward, further away from the hand held out to her. "No! Pet!"

"What is this for?" Emily examined the labels on the prescription bottles.

"Nausea and pain."

Emily looked thoughtful. "I'd say it's probably safe to let her win this one, if you're comfortable with it. She won't die without these meds. She'll be okay with a skipped dose or two, even if she's uncomfortable."

Esme drew back with a glance at Rosalie, who nodded. Wisp needed her meds, but if she needed to win this fight more, then they wouldn't argue.

"You can head home whenever you want," Esme told the two younger women. "I don't want to leave Edward alone with her; I'll stay down here tonight."

Rose didn't particularly want to leave either, but she'd already tested Emmett's—and her doctor's—patience enough today. She wasn't supposed to be around Wisp until she was better. "You call." It wasn't a request. "Any updates, anything at all. I'll be there."

* * *

Sleep did not come easily for anyone in the little cabin.

Edward heard Wisp's cries begin again when they roused her. He lay on his back in the dark, listening to the low, guttural, gut-wrenching sobs that tore from her. Not for the first time, he wondered how a sound so big could come from a girl so small. Then he hated himself for thinking something so inconsequential when Wisp obviously was very much in need. Other than her cat, which he could not provide, what the hell was he supposed to give her? To provide? Whatever it was, whatever she needed, it was hers. He just didn't know what to do.

Esme knocked on his door a little after one in the morning and called out to him. "Edward? Are you awake?"

He didn't answer.

He didn't want his mother right now.

Wisp cried herself to sleep sometime around three. After about fifteen minutes of silence, Edward heaved himself out of bed and padded downstairs. Fuck it. He wasn't going to let her sleep wedged behind the couch. She was his responsibility, not that Emily woman's.

Esme was awake, seated on the couch with a mug of coffee. She followed Edward's movement with her eyes but said nothing as he scooted the heavy piece of furniture away from the wall, giving him room to squeeze behind and pick Wisp up.

She shifted in his arms but did not wake. Edward tried not to look at her as he carried her to the air mattress wedged under the table. His Wisp had a beautiful smile, bright as a new penny. He didn't want to see the dried tear-tracks streaking her cheeks, clumping her eyelashes. Whatever expression she wore while she slept, he knew he wouldn't like it.

Esme joined him without a word, carefully helping to maneuver Wisp into the dark little space under the table. They drew blankets over her, tucking her in gently.

"Stay with her?"

His mother nodded. "Of course. Try to sleep, Edward."

His eyes felt like sandpaper, but sleep seemed further away than ever.

* * *

Wisp slept fitfully for the rest of the night, which wasn't at all like her. She was a deep sleeper, still and calm...but not tonight. She tossed and turned, and more than once Edward heard her cry out in her sleep, Esme right there to hush her. For so long, that had been _his_ job. Soothing her after a nightmare or a scare, letting her hide in the crook of his shoulder when the world frightened her and she needed to feel safe. He was her safe harbor—that's what Jasper had called him. But how the hell was he supposed to be that when she didn't want anything to do with him? He didn't begrudge her her anger—she was completely justified, he felt. But that didn't make her rejection any easier to take.

He finally gave up pretending to sleep around eight, and he made himself shower and shave, forcing himself through the daily routine that didn't seem altogether worth it anymore. When Wisp hurt, he hurt, and this time he didn't have any idea how to fix it.

To make matters worse, Edward knew he had a very unpleasant task ahead of him. He had to call Scott and explain the situation—that Wisp's beloved kitten had vanished, no one could find it, and she was not dealing well. He didn't know how long it would take until Scott came to collect her, to put her somewhere else, someplace without flighty little kittens, someplace where surprises like this were not permitted to happen. He was sorrier than he could express, but this wasn't something he could hide from her social worker. In fact—

The buzz of his phone in the pocket of his jeans distracted Edward from his thoughts, and he dug it out to look at the caller ID.

It was a local number, but not one he recognized. With a mental shrug, he answered. "Edward Cullen."

"Mr. Cullen? I'm sorry to bother you. This is Dr. Banner, the veterinarian here in town. You came into the office the other day with information about a lost black cat?"

"Yes." Edward scrubbed at his face with one hand. "Yes. Her owner is really upset." That was possibly the understatement of the year.

"Well, I don't want to get your hopes up too much, but I have a black stray here in my office. I can't promise it's yours, and I'm also going to warn you that it's hurt."

Edward felt his heart stop. Pet. Had Pet been found? He slowly lowered himself to the end of his bed. "Hurt? How—what—"

"Hit by a car. The driver said it darted out into the road and he tried to swerve, but..." The vet cleared his throat. "Anyway, he brought it to me."

Hit by a car? How was the thing even alive? Edward tugged hard at his hair with his free hand. "How bad is it?"

"Not as bad as it could be, all things considered. My tech hasn't taken rads yet, but I'm sure there's a broken leg. Normally I'd call animal control to pick up a stray, but if it might be yours—"

"No," Edward snapped, "no, don't call animal control! Do whatever you have to do; I'll pay for it. And I'll be there to look at it as soon as I get some shoes on." Fuck, where were his shoes? His wallet?

_Pet_.

Pet might be found.

"Easy, Mr. Cullen," the vet said. "The cat's not going anywhere. I'll snap a photo and email it to you, how does that sound? You might be able to tell if it's your cat without making the trip."

Edward agreed, but the four-minute wait for the photo to come through felt like centuries. When his email notification finally pinged and he opened up the attachment...

...yes. Yes, that was Pet. The stupid, annoying, heartless little fluffball that had snuck out on Wisp. He recognized the shape of her face, the ridiculous scruffy fur, the one white forepaw. The doctor had put a pink collar on her—Wisp wouldn't like that.

"It's her," he typed back on his phone. "We'll be there as soon as we can."

* * *

A/N: I also need to give a shoutout to TeamLockTheDoor, lol. You ladies make my life, you know that?


	39. Chapter 39

A/N: Ohai, lovelies! It's a shorter chapter than the last one, but you get it quickly, so no complaining, lol! Two quick reminders: follow WispsPet on Twitter (no, I didn't create the account and I don't know who did, but it's adorable!) and write oneshots for the Smells Like Metallic Roses 90's Twific contest!

This update is in honor of my as-yet-unnamed unicorn. CallMePagliacci got him for me, and you should all be jealous! ;-) He has a rainbow mane and a pink tail and he's covered in stars. And YES, before you ask, HE'S SO FLUFFY!

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

Esme was asleep when Edward bolted downstairs but her keen ears, on alert for the stirrings of a distraught young woman, heard him. She pulled herself into a sitting position under the table, her eyes immediately turning to the girl beside her.

Wisp, to her surprise, was not asleep.

She lay on her side, curled in her blankets, eyes wide and unfocused. Her eyes were swollen from crying, mouth lax and devoid of emotion. She looked...lost. Like everything she'd known had been pulled out from under her yet again.

"Esme! Wisp!" Edward's voice wasn't loud, but the excitement in it was plain. "Is she awake?"

He lifted a curtain of sheet, and Esme felt a little stirring of hope when she saw him. He looked like he hadn't slept all night, which she didn't doubt. Dark smudges marred the skin under his eyes, and she didn't remember ever seeing the tired crinkles at the outside corners before. His gaze immediately searched for Wisp in the darkness, seeking her out, drawn to her, a wave to the shore.

"Wisp." His voice gentled, softened into something like a croon. "Little Wisp, you need to get up. Pet. We have to go get Pet."

Esme felt the tension in her chest heighten in fear that she wasn't hearing what she thought. "Edward?"

He nodded, but refused to take his eyes off Wisp. "The vet in town just called. She's there, she's at his office."

"Thank god," Esme breathed, though she was not religious. "Oh, Edward."

"I know, I know. I didn't believe it, but he sent me a photo. It's her."

Edward reached out and grasped Wisp's shoulders gently, applying soft pressure until she sat upright. "No," she said, tugging ineffectually at his hands. "No, Edward. Bad!"

"Not bad, little Wisp. Good Very good. Honey, Pet isn't lost anymore. Come on, we can go get her."

"Gone." Her lower lip quivered and a wet sheen slid over her dull eyes. "Gone." One fat tear dripped down her cheek.

"No, not anymore. She just got lost, honey. Come on." Edward slid his hands under her arms and pulled her out of her soft little cave. "Come with me. I'm going to show you." She hated leaving the cabin, but for this Edward was willing to endure a meltdown. She wanted her cat badly—too badly for him to deny her whatever time it would take for him to fetch the wayward animal. Pet was hurt, Dr. Banner had said. Edward had no idea how much time it would take to treat her. An hour? More? Whatever—it was too long. Wisp needed to see her first. "We're going to go get her now."

She refused to help him lift her, letting her legs dangle rather than wrapping them around him. Edward bit back a sigh. She didn't want him to touch her, and he got that. He did. But how else was he supposed to get her in the car? To show her that her pet wasn't lost anymore?

So he let her dangle, holding her tight to his chest as Esme shoved her feet into shoes and grabbed her keys. "Edward," she said, "are you sure? If it isn't the right cat..."

"It is. I saw a photo." He was still beyond hurt that his Wisp didn't seem to want anything to do with him, but at least she wasn't actively struggling at the moment. She'd seemed to...he couldn't say she'd given up entirely. She certainly wasn't making this easy for him, but she seemed somewhat resigned to whatever Edward wanted to do.

Until they opened the front door.

"No!" she squealed, kicking her legs and trying to twist in Edward's grasp. "No, Edward! Sorry! Sorry! No!" She pleaded with him brokenly as she tried to squirm away, and when that didn't work she wrapped herself around him as tightly as she could, making it impossible for him to let go. She pulled herself up his body with more strength than he credited her with, hugging his hips in a vise grip, her little hands grabbing so hard at his skin that it was possible she'd mark him. "Sorry!" she pleaded, tucking her head against his neck, pushing close, clinging. "Bad Wisp—sorry!"

"Shh, little Wisp, honey." He hugged her close, a riot of emotions swirling in him. Yes, he was more than relieved that she wasn't pushing him away anymore, but this wasn't how he'd hoped it would happen. She felt secure enough to act out when confronted with the loss of her kitten, but she clearly did not trust that he wouldn't get rid of her. Not really. Not fully. "Shh..." He gripped her as tightly as he dared, swaying slightly, trying to soothe her with touch and words. "Honey, I'm not getting rid of you. That's something you never, ever have to worry about. You're part of this family—didn't you know that?" Edward decided that once this whole mess was over, "family" was going to be the next concept he tried to teach her. "We're going to go get Pet and bring her back. Because, as much trouble as she causes, she's part of this family, too."

"Pet gone," she sobbed, huddling against him. "Pet gone!"

"Yes, she is," he agreed, motioning for Esme to go ahead of him. He stepped forward, hating the little tremors that pulsed through her body. "We're going to fix that."

"Gone. Pet gone. Wisp gone." She slumped in his arms as they reached his car.

"No, Wisp is not fucking gone, and she isn't going to be." Edward slid into the back seat, holding her close. "Wisp is right here with me, where she belongs. Why would I get rid of you?"

He doubted she believed him.

The drive to the vet's office was tense. Wisp cried the whole way, hiding her face in Edward's shirt—he'd forgotten a jacket in his rush to get out the door. Esme glanced at them through the rear-view mirror several times, anxious, and Edward didn't blame her. He _knew_ this was the right cat, but he had no idea what condition she was in. He intended to get Wisp to her immediately regardless, but he wished he could better prepare for whatever it was.

They pulled into a parking spot in front of the vet's storefront office a few minutes later, and Edward hugged Wisp as he eased them both out of the car. This time he was able to put an arm behind her back and another below her knees, which was easier on both of them. Esme opened the door, and they stepped into the empty waiting room.

The girl behind the desk stared at them, and Edward had to fight down his instant surge of irritation. They _did_ look ridiculous—both Esme and Wisp disheveled, all without jackets, Wisp without shoes, hiding in Edward's arms as he carried her. He felt her tense as she breathed in the disinfectant smell.

"Sorry to bother you." He gave the girl at the desk his best charming smile. "Dr. Banner called and said he found our cat."

The girl relaxed slightly. "The little black one with the broken leg? Poor thing. Head on into the exam room and I'll have someone bring her in."

Edward followed where she pointed, Esme silently opening the door and closing it behind them. "Edward, you didn't say she was hurt."

"Does it matter?" He squeezed his very unhappy Wisp a little tighter. "She's alive, and she's found. Those seemed the salient points to me."

There were a couple of chairs in the room, but Edward didn't bother to even attempt placing Wisp on one. He held her, shivering a little as her tears cooled on his neck. The exam room was as chilly and sterile as any doctor's office.

A minute later the door opened again and Dr. Banner, a middle-aged man with a round gut and thinning hair, stepped inside. Edward spared the man half a glance before zeroing in on the bundle in his arms.

It was Pet. Dr. Banner held her on a baby blanket decorated with teddy bears and she seemed disinclined to struggle even though she was usually wary of strangers.

"This is her owner," Edward said quietly, ducking his chin to gesture at the girl hiding against his shoulder. "She's been heartbroken since the little monster disappeared."

Thankfully, the doctor didn't seem terribly inclined to question why the girl wasn't standing or talking for herself. "Well," he said, placing the blanket and cat on the metal exam table, "you've got a lucky little kitten here, Mr. Cullen. Run-ins with cars are often deadly, but this girl's not much worse off than her broken leg." As he set the cat down, a fold of blanket fell away and Edward saw a hot pink cast engulfing one of Pet's hind legs. "She definitely used one of her nine lives, though." He kept a hand on the cat, restraining it.

"I'm hoping it's the only one she uses." Not just for the animal itself, but also for Wisp. This was her child, and he still didn't believe she'd ever get over losing it. "Wisp," he said, nudging her head with his nose. "Wisp, I want you to look at something. Look—it's Pet."

She only tightened her grip on him, pushing closer. Whether she was determined not to look or simply terrified, he couldn't say.

"Esme, will you help, please?"

Esme placed a soft palm on Wisp's cheek. "It's true, sweetheart," she said, sliding her fingers down, catching Wisp's chin. "Look, please. Pet is right here."

Wisp didn't want to—Edward could feel how much she didn't want to. But she didn't fight Esme, and she followed with her eyes as Esme pointed her other hand at the table.

She went very still.

"Pet," Edward murmured. "It's Pet, honey. Dr. Banner found her for you."

"Pet..." She inhaled a deep, shaky breath. "Pet?"

Edward didn't generally put much faith in animal intelligence. He wasn't positive that Pet knew her name, or any other words, or even really cared to tell one person from another. He wouldn't have bet money, for instance, on the cat responding to Wisp's voice.

But she did.

The little black head lifted, her one white paw flexed—he noted that the white fur was now a sort of muddy brown—and she mewed.

Wisp's breath caught in a loud hiccup. She dragged in another breath and reached out with one hand, her fingers opening and closing around her palm in a gesture of intense, childlike desire. "Pet!" She leaned away from Edward, toward the table, and he had to readjust his grip to keep from dropping her. "Mine!"

Esme's mouth dropped open.

_Mine._ It was one of the first concepts babies learned, but for Wisp it meant far more. She claimed the cat as her own in a way she'd never claimed anything—not the food she ate, not the clothes she wore. Edward doubted she really believed anything belonged to her. She treated items as if they were loans, things that could and probably would be snatched away at any second. Now he was beginning to understand why she hadn't become a hoarder—something he was honestly a little worried about. She didn't hide food, and she didn't fuss when people touched her things.

Now he knew why. She didn't place importance on things at least in part because she didn't believe _anything_ belonged to her.

Except Pet.

"Easy, Wisp." Edward struggled to hold her still even as she tried to lean further away from him. "Hold on. Pet is hurt—you have to be careful." He looked to the doctor for help as Wisp whimpered and pleaded for her kitten.

"She can touch, she just has to be gentle," Dr. Banner confirmed. "I'm sure your little friend is pretty uncomfortable after her ordeal. We've given her fluids and pain medication, and we've observed her for a while. No signs of internal injuries so far, but I'll send you home with a list of things to watch for."

Two recuperating girls to care for. Whatever. Edward didn't care, as long as Wisp got her cat back. "Here—Esme, will you scoot a chair over?"

She did, and Edward sat with Wisp on his lap next to the exam table. "Gentle," he cautioned, though he'd rarely known Wisp to be otherwise. He pointed to the pink cast. "Ow."

"Ow," Wisp repeated solemnly. She stuck her finger in her mouth and looked up at Edward with hesitant, questioning eyes.

"Yes." He nodded, giving her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "You can pet her. The doctor said it's okay."

Before Wisp could decide whether it was safe, Pet made up her mind for her. The cat struggled to its feet, cast splayed awkwardly to the side, and limped forward. Another pitiful little meow left its mouth.

"There, she knows you," the doctor said with a smile. He picked the cat up gently and transferred it to Wisp's lap. "She wants you."

"Pet," Wisp breathed. She curled one arm around the half-grown kitten and ran the fingertips of her other hand lightly across its back. "Mine. Pet mine. My Pet. _My_ Pet." She let Pet sniff her fingers, then trailed them through the dirty, scruffy fur. Edward didn't put much faith in animal intelligence, but he couldn't deny it when the cat—that goddamn stupid fucking cat—began to purr.

"Thank you, Dr. Banner," Esme murmured. "You have no idea what you've given us." There were tears in her eyes.

The man smiled. "Actually, I just might. Pets are important, especially to the people who really need them."

"I don't know how she got out." Edward managed to drag his eyes away from Wisp's reverent hands and address the vet politely. "Probably when someone came in, but we didn't see. She's not an outdoor cat."

"Yes, cats will do that. They don't usually get lost and end up so far from home, though."

"We're going to be twice as careful now that we know she'll bolt."

"For peace of mind," the doctor said, "you might want to think about getting her microchipped. It's a useful tool when cats get lost. You can't track it like GPS, but any vet or animal shelter will be able to run a wand over the implant site, usually the back of the neck, and get your information."

"Do it." Edward had no intentions of letting that damn cat get out again, but he wasn't averse to backup measures. Not when Wisp's emotional stability lay with the life of the little animal. "Wait." He hesitated. "Does she need to let go?" Because he wasn't sure Wisp was willing to do that right now.

"No." Dr. Banner smiled. "It will only take a moment, and kitty can stay right where she is."

* * *

Wisp was happy to do whatever Edward wanted as long as she didn't have to let go of her cat. He was grateful that getting her into the car this time around wasn't a struggle—she was even willing to sit next to him rather than on his lap, Pet tucked securely in her arms. The vet's technician had offered them a cardboard pet carrier, but Edward declined. Wisp wasn't going to let go of that cat anytime soon.

Dr. Banner gave them printed sheets of directions for Pet's care, as well as painkillers to crush into her food. The bill ended up being almost a thousand dollars, all told, but Edward didn't care. He paid it happily, just glad he had the chance to give Wisp back her cat. The little furball caused massive amounts of trouble, but it kept Wisp happy.

They stopped to pick up food on the way home, Wisp barely glancing out the windows when they parked at the diner. She crooned to her cat, telling it over and over that it was a "good Pet." The cat, which had been given a mild sedative, simply lay in her lap and purred. Edward was fairly sure that Wisp would be purring, too, if she could.

Back at the cabin, Edward exhaled slowly. It felt like something swept through his body, loosening his muscles and draining away the tension. Yeah, it drained away his energy, too, as adrenaline from the situation ebbed, but that didn't matter. Wisp was in her little cave under the table with Pet—she'd promptly taken the cat there, clutching it to her chest in one hand as she crawled—and she was smiling.

_Smiling_.

Two hours ago, Edward had despaired that he might never see her soft little smile again—a little overdramatic, maybe, but at the time it hadn't felt that way.

He watched her as he helped Esme plate food. They'd opened one side of the blanket-cave so they could keep an eye on the sick girl and injured cat, and Edward kept glancing over at them as he worked. Wisp lay on her side, propped up on an arm, stroking and scratching the cat reverently with her other hand. "Good Pet," she said for the millionth time. "Pretty Pet. My Pet."

Good girl, he thought, though he didn't say it. She was laying claim to her kitten.

She wasn't struggling against him anymore—in fact, she ignored just about everything except Pet. It was an improvement, he guessed, though he hoped she would come to him again soon. Emily had said she would when she was ready...hadn't she? He didn't really remember. Yesterday afternoon and evening had been...bad. He was pretty sure he hadn't been all that polite to anyone, and he didn't really remember much about Emily except that he was angry Rose brought her. Wisp was his responsibility.

"What are you thinking?" Esme handed him a small plate with an unbuttered roll and a bowl of chicken noodle soup—one of the diner's supposed specialties. Edward didn't know; he'd never ordered it. It smelled okay, and he knelt down by the table to give the food to Wisp. She eyed it, one hand still resting on her cat.

"How narrowly we dodged that bullet," he answered, running a hand through his hair. "I know she's going to lose the cat eventually—cats live what? Ten years? Fifteen? But I'm glad it doesn't have to be today." Would she be any more ready to say goodbye to her pet in ten years? Edward honestly didn't know. That was too far in the future to contemplate when he was barely struggling along day to day.

"We'll all be more careful after this." Esme gave him his sandwich and fries. "Nobody wants a repeat of the last couple of days."

No, Edward agreed, no one wanted that.

"Are you sure she's okay eating in there?"

He shrugged as he watched Wisp lift the spoon, giving it a hesitant lick. "What's the worst that could happen? If she spills, everything is washable." He was more concerned that she actually try to eat some of her lunch. They had _not_ been doing a very good job of keeping her fed, though it certainly wasn't from lack of trying.

"She'll come back to you, Edward." Esme squeezed his arm. "Give her time to love on Pet, and she'll come back to you."

Yeah, Edward knew that. She couldn't shun him forever; she didn't have it in her. But he didn't know how long it would take for her to forgive him, to look past that moment when he told her Pet was gone. He ached to see her smile at him again the way she smiled at her cat, but he knew better than to push. As much as he disliked Emily being thrust upon him, she was right. Wisp had to come to him, not the other way around. She had to make that choice.

He had to be patient.

It was much easier, now that she was content again.

Edward watched her swallow a little soup and two small bites of bread before she curled up again in the nest of blankets under the table, her body spooned around her kitten. Wisp was protecting her, sheltering her—loving her the only way she knew how.

Mine, she'd said. My Pet.

It was a start.

* * *

A/N: Who's excited for Twific Meetup in June? I'm in charge of bringing the moonshine. Ooza and Livie79 are in charge of bringing the mayhem. Except Liv put me in timeout for hurting Pet, so IDK if I'm giving her bail money anymore. ;-)


	40. Chapter 40

A/N: A very happy birthday to Nolebucgrl, author of Sideline Collision (among other fabulous fics)! And a shoutout to my poor sick girls, CallMePagliacci and Packy Pie!

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

"Thank you." Edward dropped his head back as he sat on the couch and dug his fingers into his eyes. He was exhausted, but he didn't want to sleep. His body felt loose and relaxed, and he didn't have quite the same overwhelming need to see Wisp that he'd felt for the last couple of days. She was asleep under the kitchen table, curled around her kitten, a hint of a smile still coloring the edges of her mouth. She'd eaten a little lunch, and she seemed fine. Calm. Happy, he hoped. "I feel like I've been ungrateful for all the help you've been." He turned his head to regard his aunt. "I'm the one who took her in; I'm the one who wanted to do this. I didn't think about how much work it would be for the rest of you."

"Edward." She sat on the opposite end of the couch, also tired, also relaxed. "You haven't been ungrateful. You've been preoccupied, and with very good reason. I told you before that this isn't something you can do on your own. We wouldn't help if we didn't want to. You're my son and I love you, and Wisp...well, how can you turn away from a face like that?" She smiled slightly. "I know why you did it—why you went and got her back when she was taken away. She's an appealing girl, and she needs so much."

"She calls you mother." Edward wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. On the surface it was achingly sweet—Wisp claiming something that, perhaps, she'd never before had. But Esme hadn't signed up to mother a waif. "That's a lot of responsibility, a lot of pressure."

Esme shrugged. "I suppose you can look at it that way. But there's also a great deal of joy. You weren't there when she looked at me with those sweet eyes and asked me if I would be her mother. I agreed, Edward—how could I not? She comes with her own unique challenges, and a great deal of heartache, yes. But the rewards outweigh all that. She's a dream to care for in many ways. She never takes anything for granted, so she's always more than grateful for what she has. When she's upset, you know there's a good reason for it and she does her best to communicate what's wrong. I know Rose calls her a baby, but she isn't. Not really. She's very mature in some important ways." She smiled. "I told her at one point that the beautiful thing about a family is that it's made up of people who care about each other. That, when you have that, the labels don't matter. I know she didn't understand, and she had her heart set on that label—getting a mother for herself. It's something she dearly wanted, and I don't see the harm."

Harm. No, Wisp could do no harm—that wasn't really what Edward meant. It was hard to put into words exactly what he felt. She was his responsibility, yes, and he loved her. Those things would not change. He also knew that he couldn't do this alone. When he was honest with himself, he could admit that he didn't even really want to. She deserved more than he alone could give her. But he wanted...he didn't know how to explain it. He wanted her to be happy, yes. He also wanted her to look for him first, before anyone else.

The difficult part was, he knew better. He was a sociologist, and he knew enough to understand that Wisp needed to build close bonds with other women so she could learn more about who and what she was. She wasn't a man, and she knew that. She could see the differences between their bodies. But she had no idea what that meant—how to be a woman. The only thing she seemed to understand about being female was that men desired her body. That wasn't her fault, but it would have to be rectified if she was ever going to join the larger society. She didn't need to become Alice, but she needed to understand, at the very least, so she could make informed decisions about who she wanted to be, how she wanted to live.

The scholar in Edward knew this was something he couldn't do for her.

The caretaker in him didn't want to admit it.

"If she wants a mother," he said slowly, "she couldn't have asked for a better one. Thank you, Esme."

His aunt smiled. "Thank_ you_, Edward. I know it's difficult for you to let other people in when it comes to her."

He cast a glance at the kitchen doorway, beyond which Wisp slept curled around her kitten. "She's been betrayed so many times. I don't have to know exactly what happened to her; I know that much. And I can't let it happen again."

* * *

Jasper and Alice came over in the evening—mostly so Jasper could check on Wisp, but Edward couldn't help shoving the Bambi DVD in Alice's purse the first opportunity he got.

"Why?" He tried to keep his voice moderately calm, but it was hard not to demand an explanation for something that had caused Wisp so much hurt. "Why the hell would you give her this? Do you have any idea how big a meltdown she had over the whole dead-mother thing?"

Alice stuck her tongue out at him. "Well, you didn't have to show it to her! It was hard trying to pick movies, even kiddie movies, without a love story, you know? I was trying to stay away from romance—you were all uncomfortable with stuff she did before, so I thought maybe romance was a touchy subject."

Edward had to swallow his irritation. Alice was right—taking love stories out of the mix definitely limited her options. She'd been trying to be sensitive, and she only wanted to help. "I'm sorry," he said. "But it really, _really_ freaked her out." He had to admit, though, that Alice had thought of something he hadn't. He had absolutely no idea how Wisp might react to a romantic storyline, even in something as innocuous as a Disney movie. Her responses to sexual situations, certainly, were unpredictable. She could push the issue, as she had when he woke up with her mouth around him—_not_ an experience he wanted to relive—or she could react with terror, as she had when Jasper gave her a pelvic exam. Sex and romance were two different things, of course, but he had no idea how much, if anything, she knew about the latter. Certainly she knew that men desired her body. But was that it? Was that all she thought existed between a man and a woman?

"Was it that bad?" Alice looked remorseful. "I'm sorry. I saw it and I was thinking about little Thumper and Flower. I didn't even consider..."

"Yeah." Edward turned his head, watching Jasper kneel next to the blanket-cave that Wisp didn't want to leave. Esme was with her, urging her to let him take her blood pressure. "She cried and screamed, called and called for Esme. It took awhile to comfort her, and then the whole thing with her cat happened..."

"Rose told me she wouldn't even take her meds. How is she feeling?"

Edward considered the question. It was hard for him to say. She'd napped in her little cave for most of the afternoon, curled around her kitten. On the bright side, she'd eaten a little lunch and kept it down. "I...don't know? She's probably still all shaken up."

"Rose also said she brought Emily over."

"You knew about Emily?"

"Rose and I are friends! Of course I knew about Emily." Alice poked him in the shoulder. "She's kind of sorry about the way it went down, by the way. She really wants you to like Em."

"She wants her to be Wisp's therapist." That much Edward understood.

"Well, she thinks it might be a good fit, you know? Because Emily's been through shit of her own. She gets it. But she knows it's your decision to make."

Edward offered her a twisted, mocking smile. "No," he said, "actually, it's not."

"No?"

He stepped further into the kitchen, Alice trailing behind. Jasper glanced up at them from his spot on the floor next to the table.

"No." Edward sat in a kitchen chair, and his smile gentled when he saw Wisp hugging Pet with the arm Jasper wasn't using. "I...did some thinking this afternoon. Wisp, she's used to her whole life being dominated by men. That's clear enough. And when we found her, what did we do? We're not cruel—I hope, anyway—but...it's the same thing. I'm her legal guardian. Scott's her social worker. Jasper's her doctor. Her world is still dictated by men. As much as I don't like how Rose did things, Emily said something last night that made me think."

"What did she say?"

"That only Wisp can choose her therapist. If I do it for her, or if Scott does, and she doesn't trust the person we choose, therapy won't work. So, whether it's Emily or not, I want Wisp to make that choice. This _needs_ to be successful."

"You're a good guy, Edward." Alice squeezed his arm.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll fuck up again soon." He shook his head. "I seem to be pretty good at that."

"You're trying, though. Lots of people wouldn't have bothered."

So people kept telling him. Edward still wasn't so sure, especially since Wisp didn't seem interested in making up with him. He rubbed his forehead and changed the subject. "So, what's Emily's story? I...don't think I remember all that much from last night."

"She'll have to give you specifics herself," Alice said, "but her ex-husband is doing fifteen to twenty in the state pen in Walla Walla for aggravated assault. He pled out of an attempted murder charge, but Em's pretty sure he planned to kill her." She shuddered. "She married him at seventeen with the permission of her mother. Her dad was dead-set against it, but all she needed was one parent's okay. Sam was twenty at the time, working down at the lumber yards. Em says she grew up in a home where her parents argued and fought all the time, so she didn't have any clear idea of what a healthy partnership looked like. Sam was controlling right from the start; she thought it was protectiveness, love. By the time she realized otherwise, he'd already put her in the hospital more than once."

Edward bit the inside of his cheek as he watched Jasper finish with Wisp and hand her an orange Tootsie-Roll Pop. Her eyes glittered now that she knew what the candy was, and it was in her mouth almost before Jasper let go. Wisp had had absolutely no choice in her confinement—of that he was sure. But stories like Emily's were much more common, and even though Edward academically understood the complex psychology behind why women stayed with their abusers, he readily admitted that he didn't emotionally understand it. Why anyone would stick around after that first incident of violence was beyond him. But Rosalie and Emily, who both seemed like strong, savvy women, were living proof that it _did _happen, and it happened to intelligent people. It wasn't stupidity that made women stay.

"Um," Wisp said, and she actually smiled at Jasper around the candy in her mouth. Edward did his best not to feel jealous.

"Anyway, Em decided she wanted to help other people, but she didn't want to become a doctor. This therapy-nurse thing seemed like a good fit. She just got her certification, and I know Rose is so proud of her."

"You disliked Dr. Lawton at least partially because of an over reliance on protocol," Esme put in, looking up from her spot on the air mattress. "That wouldn't be a problem with Emily. She lacks a certain amount of clinical experience, but she's definitely not hidebound."

This was true, and Edward agreed that it was a mark in her favor. General experience was important, but he doubted anyone in the world had specific hands-on experience with someone like Wisp. If Emily was willing to work with them to find creative solutions instead of insisting on doing everything exactly as she'd always done it before, like Dr. Lawton, they would probably work well together.

"How is she?" he asked Jasper. There was no need to talk more about Emily Young. The choice was Wisp's, and no one else's.

"Much better." Jasper sounded relieved. Alice slipped out of the room with a quick word that she was going to look at the other DVDs. "She needs to keep hydrated and her temp's still hovering around a hundred, but her blood pressure and pulse are much better. I'll call Scott and let him know as soon as we're done here." He motioned to the candy in her mouth. "I wouldn't have given that to her if I thought it would upset her stomach. I think if she's already off her meds we can see how she does without them going forward. You might try giving her some Pepto-Bismol to settle her stomach if she needs it, and some aspirin if her temp rises. Let me know about that, too."

"Food?"

"Well, I wouldn't jump right to anything super greasy or spicy. Use your discretion. Honestly, as long as she keeps it down, it doesn't really matter what she eats. The important thing is to get some meat on her skinny little bones. She lost weight being sick, weight she couldn't afford to lose."

Edward was happy to feed her around the clock if he had to. Whatever she needed. "Anything else?"

Jasper shook his head. "Just let her rest, keep her quiet for the next week or so. After that we can talk about maybe trying some physical therapy. We won't get her walking right away, but building muscle will be good for her. We don't have a therapy pool here in Forks, but there's one in Port Angeles. I don't know if she'll stay calm for such a long car ride. It would be the best sort of exercise she could possibly get, though."

Yeah, Edward wasn't too sure about a trip that long, either.

They migrated back to the living room, and Alice came down the stairs with the stack of DVDs she'd given Wisp. "Let's look through these," she said. "I'll take back any others you don't think she'll like. We don't want her crying again."

They considered the titles. Peter Pan definitely was staying, and Edward couldn't remember anything wrong with Alice in Wonderland either. It was strange, but not emotionally disturbing. Fantasia—he couldn't really remember that one, but it was just animations set to classical music. He didn't see anything harmful about that. Dumbo came under debate, again because of the lost-mother theme, but they decided to let it stay. The loss wasn't so gut-wrenching, and Dumbo _did_ get his mother back in the end. Winnie-the-Pooh was fine. Edward wasn't familiar with the last two titles, Toy Story or Lilo & Stitch, but Alice assured him that they were harmless. She didn't want Wisp hurting any more than he did, so he had to trust that she knew what she was talking about.

After Jasper and Alice left, Esme decided to head home, too. Carlisle was leaving in the morning for a conference, and she wanted to see him before he left. Edward assured her that he and Wisp would be fine, and he even managed a smile as she kissed Wisp goodbye.

He set Wisp up with her DVD player and Peter Pan, letting her stay in her little cave under the table, and gave her a cup of apple juice to sip as he made her some dinner. Jasper said she could start eating a little bit of regular food again, but they had leftover chicken and rice in the refrigerator. He cut the cooked chicken into little bite-sized chunks, then heated it and the rice in a can of low-sodium cream of chicken soup. Wisp never complained about food, but this seemed a little more palatable than plain, dry, reheated chicken.

Edward got a surprise, though, as he reached down into a low cupboard to grab a can of cat food. Wisp darted out from her warm little cave and put her hand on his wrist. "Mine, Edward," she said, dark eyes solemn. He watched as she picked up a can and one of Pet's dishes, then pulled herself up on her knees to reach the silverware drawer and find a spoon. She sat on the floor, eyebrows furrowed as she struggled with the pop-top lid, and Edward wanted badly to help her, but he knew better. She clearly wanted to do this on her own.

So he watched, saying nothing, as she finally opened the lid. Pet's little black head perked up at the sound, and the cat struggled to its feet. Wisp spooned the cat food into the dish and Edward added a crushed pill—Pet's painkiller—before the kitten managed to limp her way to her dish.

"Good Pet," Wisp crooned, stroking the cat as it shoved its face in its food. "Pretty Pet." She reached out with both hands and snapped the pink paper collar around Pet's neck, which she'd been wearing since the vet's office, and let it drop to the floor. "My Pet."

Edward didn't know for sure, but he suspected feeding the cat was no longer his responsibility.

* * *

Edward woke later that night to weight on his legs and a low keening noise in his ears. He reached out reflexively, finding soft fleece and cool skin.

"Wisp?" He blinked the sleep from his eyes and turned on the reading light next to his bed. "Wisp, honey, what's wrong?" His first assumption was that something had happened to the cat, but Wisp had Pet next to her and the cat looked fine. Was she sick or in pain? Should they not have taken her off her meds so soon?

But her tired eyes did not look anything but sad, and she wasn't holding her stomach as if she was hurting.

"Little Wisp, what is it?" He resisted the urge to pull her into his arms, though it was difficult. Anything that might upset her, anything she could view as unwanted, he had to stop.

"Bad," she said softly. "Bad Wisp."

"Why do you think you're bad?" She crawled closer, scooting up his outstretched legs, and Edward waited, holding his breath as she reached out and touched his arm. He wore only a thin, short-sleeved undershirt, and the bruise she'd given him, two dark semi-circles against his pale skin, stood out clearly.

"Bad Wisp." The light brush of her fingertips made him shiver.

"It hurts," he allowed, "but you're not bad. You were scared, and I didn't handle that very well. I'm sorry, little one. You deserve better. Unfortunately, what you've got right now is me."

"Ow." She covered the bruise with her palm, as if she could will it away just by hiding it.

"Yeah, ow."

Her delicate little face was troubled, and she stroked his skin with the gentlest, lightest touch he'd ever felt. It was just a little bruise, but this girl obviously knew what injuries looked like, and that they weren't pleasant. He was sorrier than he could express for that, but there was nothing he could do to erase her past.

She shifted closer again, and Edward watched, barely breathing, as she lowered her head and placed a soft, deliberate kiss on the bite mark. "Sorry," she whispered. "Sorry, Edward."

"Thank you." He touched her cheek as she rested her forehead against his shoulder. "I appreciate the apology." To him, she didn't have anything to apologize for. Yes, she'd hurt him, but not on purpose. It was his own fault for trying to hold onto her when she obviously wanted him to let go.

She pulled away from his arm, turning her body and crawling down his legs. Edward's brow furrowed in confusion until she pushed her thumbs in the waistband of her soft fleece pants and pulled them down. She pressed her forehead against his legs, raising her ass in the air, and waited.

Edward closed his eyes for a long moment. "Really?" he said. "We're back to that?" He pulled her pajamas into place, then slid his hands to her hips and pulled until she was seated in his lap. "Wisp." He felt a suspicious little prickle behind his eyes. "That hurts me more than your little teeth, you know. Don't you know by now that I'm never going to hit you?" He held her loosely as she settled sideways on his lap, those huge eyes staring up at him with confusion. "Wisp, sweetheart. You're safe here. No one is going to hurt you—not on purpose. I don't hit. Do you hear me? Can you understand?" He held her eyes, willing the message to really sink in this time. "I. Don't. Hit."

"Penance," she whispered. Her eyes shone bright with tears. She was struggling to understand; that much he could see.

"No," he said. "No penance. Not here. You have nothing to be penitent about."

"Penance." One fat tear dripped down her cheek. "Bad Wisp."

"Scared Wisp. Sad Wisp. But not bad—never bad."

"Bad."

"No, sweetheart. How do I make you understand?"

Her body tensed as she moved again, wiggling in his grasp. She leaned against the arm she'd bitten, and Edward watched as she pulled away far enough to see it. Gentle, feather-light fingertips traced the purple mark again, back and forth, over and over. "Sorry," she whispered.

"I'm glad you're sorry, but one apology is enough, and no one's going to punish you. Can you understand that?"

"Edward. Good Edward." Her head tipped forward, and he felt the brush of her lips against his arm. She kissed him as gently as she'd stroked, her lips barely making contact, once, twice, again, smoothing over each centimeter of bruised skin.

Edward shivered and did his best to hold still. She had no idea what she was doing to him, he told himself. She was just trying to apologize. He couldn't refuse her that.

Her head turned, cheek pressed gently to his arm, soft eyes watching him. "Good Edward give Pet. My Pet."

Edward nodded past the sudden constriction in his throat. "Yes, I gave you Pet. I'm glad I was able to give her back, too. I'm sorry she got lost, sweetheart. I'm going to do my best to make sure it doesn't ever happen again."

"My Pet." Wisp glanced at the cat asleep at the foot of the bed.

"Yes. Pet is yours, and no one is going to take her away from you, okay? We know she means a lot to you."

"My Pet." She swung one leg over his, straddling his thighs and sitting back. Her hands lifted slowly, and he could see the faint tremble of her tired, malnourished body. He held very still, Wisp's face intent as her hands softly cupped his face. She held him, her palms cool against his cheeks as her dark eyes traveled over his features. She'd never looked at him like this before, with such fierce attention, a delicate little line appearing between her eyebrows as she stared. Her thumbs moved, stroking his skin, slow and gentle. He kept a light grip on her hips, almost afraid to breathe. The night was so quiet, not even rain drumming on the roof, and he heard the refrigerator downstairs click and hum. "Edward," she breathed.

Careful not to dislodge her hands, he nodded.

"Good Edward. Pretty Edward."

One side of his mouth managed to lift. "If you say so."

"My Edward?"

He exhaled slowly. She was hesitant, unsure, her lower lip disappearing into her mouth as she waited for his answer. As if there were any question. He'd been hers from the minute he first touched her, helping Carlisle remove her from the back of James' filthy pickup truck. Did she not know? How could she not know? He did his best to show her, every day.

Edward leaned forward slightly, dropping his forehead against hers. Her breath was warm, but her skin felt cool against his. He needed to get her under some blankets soon. "Your Edward," he agreed. He'd made the promise to her so many times, but this was the first time he thought she might actually understand.

"My Edward." Her breath caught, then quickened. She shifted in his grasp, wiggling forward, her hands leaving his face only to smooth down his neck and then wrap around him, her small, fleece-clad body pressing gently to his.

"Always, little Wisp." Edward let himself hug her back. He'd missed the sweet pressure of her body, the way she willingly curled into him, trusting him to keep her safe and warm, trusting him not to hurt her. "I know you're trying," he said softly, murmuring the words into her hair. "I'm trying, too. It really hurts when you pull away from me, though. I can't help if you don't let me."

"Help," she echoed. It was a new word; Edward couldn't tell if she really understood it.

"Yeah, help. The opposite of hurt. Can we settle that, at least? I'm never going to hurt you, and I really want you to get that."

"Hurt. Ow." She exhaled a warm breath against his neck.

"I know. Lots of people have hurt you, haven't they?" Edward ran one hand slowly down her back. "It's not fair you had to go through that, but I'm here now. I'm going to do my best to find them for you."

"Hurt," she agreed. "Bad Dr. Gerandy."

Edward froze. "Yeah?" he said, feeling his heart pulse once, hard and out of sync. "Did he hurt you, sweet girl?"

"Hurt. Bad."

"Who else, Wisp? Who else hurt you?" He was almost afraid to ask—afraid she'd shut down again. "Father?"

"Father." She shuddered and pressed closer to his body, her arms tightening around his neck. "Hurt."

Edward gathered her closer and stood, holding her against him. "Hang on for a second, okay?" If he could keep her in this forthcoming mood long enough... He padded downstairs in his bare feet, flipped on the lights in the living room, and settled her at the coffee table.

"Pet," Wisp objected, so he went back upstairs to fetch the cat. Clearly nothing was going to chase Pet from Wisp's thoughts anytime soon.

"Okay. Okay, I want to try something, Wisp." He pulled out a sheet of drawing paper and several pencils, then sat on the floor and pulled Wisp back into his lap. Pet, deposited in her little cat bed, yawned and stretched, showing the barbs on her little pink tongue.

Wisp cuddled readily into his arms, and she fingered the edge of the paper before her. If he could get her to talk or draw something substantial, some new lead, maybe Emmett would quit with the media idea. "Dr. Gerandy," he said, and pointed to the paper. "Can you draw him for me, honey? Or Father?"

"Hurt." She chewed on her lower lip, turning her head to hide against his shoulder. "Bad, Edward."

"Yeah, I know. But we need to find them, and we can't do that without you." Edward kissed the top of her head. She smelled warm and clean, and he hugged her close. "Please?"

"Hurt."

"Yes." He tapped the paper before them. "Draw hurt, sweetheart. Explain it to me so I can understand."

"My Edward?" She peered up at him, dark eyes huge and unsure. It was the middle of the night. He was asking a lot of her, and he knew that.

"Yes," he said, rubbing her nose softly with his. "Always your Edward, and I won't hurt you."

She still did not look happy, but she picked up a pencil and bent over the paper.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Edward's ass was asleep and his legs ached, but his heart hurt worse. "Thank you," he whispered. "You're my brave girl, aren't you?"

"Bad, Edward." She pushed a smudged finger at one of the figures in her drawing. It was the man she'd drawn for them before, the man with tattoos on his arms and an uncut cock. He had her under him, and he was using it. Edward stared at the drawing. Before, Wisp had drawn scenes as if from her vantage point, the viewer almost actively engaged in the drawing. This time, she'd drawn herself, the scene fully intact, the viewer nothing but a voyeur to an act that made Edward sick to his stomach.

Because, while that was certainly his Wisp drawn under the unnamed man, her face oddly blank, devoid of emotion, it wasn't the Wisp he knew. This one was younger.

Much younger.

"Hurt." Her voice was small in the oppressive silence of the night.

"What's his name?" Edward sounded strange even to himself. Maybe it was the late hour. Maybe it was the fact that Wisp seemed to forgive him. Maybe it was the disgust he felt at what she'd drawn. This man, whoever he was; they needed to find him. He needed to be locked up for life for what he'd done, so he could never do it to another little girl. "Dr. Gerandy?" He tapped the drawing of the man.

Wisp wrinkled her nose. "No, Edward."

Not Dr. Gerandy? "Father?"

"No." She shook her head and abandoned her pencil, turning sideways and curling into him. "Bad, Edward. Hurt."

"Yeah, I see that." Edward didn't know much about kids and he didn't want to hazard a guess as to the age of the girl in the drawing. All he knew was that she was far, far too young. "Who is he, honey? Please? I need to know." This was the second time she'd drawn this man. He was clearly important, and if he wasn't the doctor or "Father," then they needed a name.

Her eyebrows drew together and she worked her lower lip between her teeth, chewing hard. Edward watched as she struggled, but after a minute it was clear she wouldn't answer. "Sorry, Edward," she said, huddling in his lap. "Sorry."

"Shh." He tucked her against his chest, holding her close. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I know this is hard."

Wisp cast a final glance at her drawing before turning back to his shoulder and hiding in her favorite spot. Edward let her, and tried not to feel disappointment. He was happy that she'd agreed to draw for him, but they didn't have a name to put with the tattooed man. Without that, the police would still most likely plaster her face across the news in hopes of new leads.

"Oh," Wisp mumbled against his skin.

"Oh?" Edward ran a hand through her hair. "Oh what?"

"Oh..." She cleared her throat, then raised a hand to point to the paper without looking at it. "Oh...own. Own, Edward. Own."

* * *

A/N: Loves you, duckies!


	41. Chapter 41

A/N: Hello, lovelies! Is everyone having a lovely weekend? I always think of things I want to say in A/Ns but then when I'm ready to post, I forget. So we should just get on with the chapter, yes?

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

Edward gave Wisp a snack of crackers and peanut butter which, to his relief, she ate happily. She offered a sticky finger to Pet, who gave the peanut butter a halfhearted sniff before turning away.

"I don't think cats like peanut butter." Edward smiled, relieved that Wisp seemed to be okay despite what he had asked her to draw. He'd taken the drawing away so she didn't have to look at it anymore, putting in on the blanket-topped kitchen table for now. In the morning he'd call Emmett, though he doubted it would do much good. She'd drawn this tattooed man before, after all. Without a name Emmett probably wouldn't be interested in stopping a media campaign, and Edward was unwilling to push her any more tonight. Jasper said she was getting better, but they had to remember that she was still sick, and treat her gently. Forcing her to remember things she didn't want to remember didn't seem very gentle to him.

"Sleep?" Wisp yawned, turning her face into his shoulder.

"Yeah, that sounds like a pretty good idea to me. It's late. Did you sleep much before you came upstairs?"

"Sleep."

Her answer was ambiguous at best, but Edward didn't care. She was in his arms, talking to him, and she seemed happy—at peace. It was all he really wanted in that moment. "Sleep," he agreed. "But first, we have to clean you up a little."

Wisp cast an interested look at the bathtub when Edward carried her into the bathroom, but she didn't complain when he set her on the counter and turned on the sink instead. He wet a washcloth and rubbed the stickiness from her fingers, then let her scrub her face with soap and warm water. She smiled, dripping, as he patted her cheeks dry with a soft towel. Some of the long hair around her face invariably got wet when she washed, but it didn't seem to bother her. Very little, in fact, seemed to bother her. Esme was right—she didn't complain about her food or clothes, the medicine she had to take, or her daily activities, such as they were. Day to day, she was very easy to care for...as long as no one tried to take her outdoors or keep her from her cat. Rousing her from sleep wasn't always the easiest thing either, but Edward could hardly blame her for that. Who liked being woken up?

"You're a sweet thing." He touched her cheek, pink from scrubbing. "No one deserves to be hurt like you've been, but I can't believe somebody could look at your face, now or years ago, and deliberately..." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. Sorry for everything you've been through." He wished more than anything that she could have had a normal life—parents who loved and protected her, close friends, a good education—despite the fact that, in that scenario, he'd probably never meet her. It didn't matter. If he could somehow turn back time and keep all of this from happening to her, he would.

But he couldn't.

"I guess all I can do is promise to do my best going forward," he told her as he carried her upstairs. "To help you achieve whatever normalcy, whatever happiness, is still possible for you."

"Pet?"

Edward chuckled. "Yes, and Pet, too." He set her down in the bedroom, then dutifully returned to the living room to fetch the cat. It grumbled about being moved, but Edward was just glad it didn't try to bite him. He'd felt those sharp little teeth more times than he cared to.

Pet was deposited on the end of the bed, and then Edward turned to Wisp. She hadn't slept in his bed for a while now, unless crying on top of his legs earlier counted. Her air mattress was still downstairs, under the kitchen table, and he didn't particularly feel like moving it. "Well?" he asked, eying the girl seated on the carpet. "What do you want?" If she asked for her mattress or her cave, he'd do it.

"Sleep?" She raised her arms to him.

That seemed pretty clear. Edward picked her up and settled them both in his bed. She cuddled into his arms with a soft, contented hum, exhaling a breath that seemed to leach everything from her body. Soft, pliable, she melted atop him, her long hair spilling over his chest and onto the mattress.

"Good Edward," she murmured as he drew the blankets around them, tucking her in securely. "My Edward."

* * *

Her good mood lasted into the morning, when Edward was roused by the sound of Pet crying fretfully, standing at the edge of the bed. Wisp was nowhere to be seen.

"You know," he told the cat, "you're going to have to get used to doing things with that cast. You'll be wearing it for a while."

Pet only meowed louder, and she skittered out of the room, awkward on her cast but moving faster than yesterday, the moment he lifted her to the floor. With a chuckle, Edward pulled a sweatshirt on and followed.

The stairs were also a challenge, but Pet navigated them fairly well, and once she trotted into the kitchen, there was Wisp waiting with Pet's breakfast.

"Pet," she said, putting the cat's dish on the floor with a smile. "My Pet." She sounded proud. As far as Edward was concerned, she had a right to.

"Yes, she's yours," he agreed. "I think she's happy to have her food. Do you want some breakfast, too?" He pulled coffee beans and a filter from a cabinet. Screw it—if Wisp could eat regular food, he could have coffee. "Do you want to help make some pancakes?"

"Help," Wisp echoed, as she had the night before. Edward still had no idea whether she understood or not, but he was happy to hear her voice either way.

"Yeah, you can help make breakfast. I think pancakes would be a good celebration this morning." They had plenty of things to be happy about. Pet was found. They were both getting better. Wisp was talking to him again.

After he ground the coffee beans and started the machine, Edward lifted her to the counter. They could worry about hygiene later—did it really matter if she brushed her hair before or after breakfast? He gave her the empty cat food can and showed her how to rinse it and the spoon in the sink, then got out the box of pancake mix and a big mixing bowl.

"Here," he said, "you can measure." He handed her a spoon and a measuring cup, and after a quick demonstration she happily began spooning the dry mix. Edward added the water, let her dump the mix in the bowl, then handed her the whisk. "Knock yourself out," he told her as he heated up a pan and melted a little butter in it. Yeah, he knew you weren't supposed to overmix pancakes, but he wasn't too concerned. Esme was an excellent cook, but he'd picked up very little from her over the years and he hadn't killed himself with his own cooking yet.

She settled into her task, spilling very little as she stirred, and Edward smiled. She seemed to enjoy helping. Once she brought her finger to her mouth, licking away a spill of batter, and grimaced at the raw-flour taste.

"I know," Edward said, chuckling. "They're not good until you cook them. Here, watch." He drizzled three small blobs of batter into the hot pan, enjoying her look of mystified delight. The warm sweet-starch smell of pancakes drifted around them.

"Oh!" Wisp pointed to the pan once he'd flipped the pancakes. "Um!"

"Yeah, do you remember when I made these for you before?" He smiled. The world seemed softer somehow—kinder, brighter—when she was happy. Not just content, but actively happy, even joyful. Wisp's excitement triggered his own in a way he didn't understand, but he didn't need to. It was enough to enjoy the late morning, making breakfast together, the smells of pancakes and coffee drifting around them.

Wisp snitched one of the first batch of pancakes as Edward was plating the third, piling them all on one plate. She took a big bite, then offered him the other half. He took it from her fingers, and she patted his cheek softly before he pulled away. "Um," she said again, chewing happily.

"Do you want to try?" Edward handed her the spatula and let her flip the next batch. She was nervous about the hot stove, which he rather liked—less chance that she'd burn herself—and she handled the utensil awkwardly, but she managed to flip the silver-dollar pancakes without too much trouble. "Pancake." Edward held one up before offering it to her.

She took a bite before scrabbling with the spatula to take the pancakes out of the pan. "Pancake," she said through her mouthful. "Um."

The mixed batter made a big pile of little pancakes, and when they were done Edward turned off the stove, melted some butter in a ramekin and put syrup in another, then lifted Wisp to the floor. She crawled to the coffee table without being told, waiting patiently while he brought food to the table. She liked to eat the little pancakes with her fingers, dunking them in the condiments, and Edward didn't see any reason to stop her. He poured her apple juice, fixed his own coffee, then settled on the couch. His job today was keeping Wisp quiet, which shouldn't be a problem. She had her cat back, and there was no reason to take her anywhere. She could watch Peter Pan as many times as she liked, or nap, or draw, or play with her kitten. He'd read to her if she wanted. And feed her as much as she'd eat—Jasper had been very clear that she needed to stop losing weight.

Not that that seemed like a problem this morning. She devoured her pancakes, which made Edward feel bad. Even if she was used to eating very little, her poor body must be starving now that she was feeling better. He probably let her eat a little more than he should, since small, frequent meals were best, but he couldn't help it. Not when she seemed so delighted to eat the meal she'd helped make. Wisp leaned over and sniffed at his coffee when he set it on the table, but when he offered her a sip she wrinkled her nose at the taste. "Uck," she told him, reaching for her juice.

"Yeah, it's an acquired taste, I think." He wasn't too concerned about it. Plenty of people didn't like coffee.

When she was finished Edward wanted to take her to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth and hair, but Wisp had other ideas. She reached for him, all but climbing into his lap as he obliged and helped lift her. She smelled syrup-sweet as she licked her lips and settled back in his arms. "Um," she said, tucking herself close. "Pancakes."

"Yeah, I thought you might like those this morning. Did you like helping?"

"Help," she agreed, sucking a sticky spot on her finger.

"What do you want to do now? Do you want to watch Peter? Would you like to draw, or paint?"

She didn't answer, instead burrowing further into his shoulder, and the little sigh she exhaled told him exactly what she wanted to do.

"Okay," he agreed easily. "I know, you're still sick. You can sleep if you want." He pulled the throw blanket off the back of the couch and offered it to her. She gladly helped tuck it around herself, nuzzling his jaw gently with her nose before settling down. Within a few minutes, she was asleep.

Edward waited until he was sure she was fully asleep, then lay her down gently on the couch. Part of him wanted nothing more than to hold her while she rested, but the realistic part of him knew he had things to do. He cleaned up the breakfast mess, poured himself more coffee, and sat slowly at the kitchen table.

Wisp's drawing from the night before stared back at him, and he glared at the man rutting into a clearly terrified and unwilling girl. When Wisp drew these things, she was so matter of fact about it. Was that normal? He didn't know. Maybe Emily would, if he asked her. Not that he was really looking forward to meeting her again, after how he'd acted the last time.

"Who are you?" he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the drawing. Wisp hadn't been able to give him a name and, yes, he was disappointed, but he couldn't be upset with her about it. She'd tried; she'd really tried. Whether she was just too scared to say his name, didn't remember it, or hadn't known it in the first place, he couldn't say. But the failing, whatever it was, wasn't her fault. That much he knew.

Knowing it was likely a lost cause, he called Emmett anyway.

"Ed! How you doing? I was just going to call you. The Chief wants to meet with you and Scott this week, the sooner the better. I told him that your schedule pretty much revolved around little Wispy, but I wanted to double check with you before he and Scott set a time."

Edward grit his teeth. He knew what they were going to talk about at that meeting, and he didn't want to do it. Not at all. "She drew for me last night."

Emmett was silent for a moment. "Yeah? What?"

"I'd rather you come over and take a look."

"Is it as fucked up as the other one?"

"Worse." Much worse. "Em, I don't want her face plastered all over the TV and newspapers."

A long exhale crackled over the connection. "Dude, we already talked about this. I know you don't like it, but Scott's gonna agree with the Chief. You know he is."

Yeah, Edward knew that. Which was why he had to try to stop them. "It's not safe. What if James' accomplice sees and goes into hiding? Or worse, tries to take her back?"

"You gotta let us handle that stuff, Ed. I get it—you worry about her. But the Chief, he knows what he's doing. If he and Scott both think it's a good idea, don't you trust them?"

"No," Edward said flatly, "I don't." Why should he? He didn't know them, not really. And yeah, he got that legally Wisp wasn't really his. The final decision was Scott's to make. But he was convinced that nobody cared as much about her—her needs, her wants, her safety—as he did. The police chief's priority, after all, was solving his case. "Look, you can come back and try to talk to her. Bring Garrett by again. Ask her to draw whatever you want. But don't involve the media. It's not right."

"Sorry, Ed. I'll come take a look at her picture, but you know this is too important. We gave you a lot of leeway—letting you in on meetings, giving you a tape of James' interrogation—but this? We can't, man."

"What if Emily says it's bad for her?" Edward knew he was running out of ideas. He didn't care. He had to try.

"Emily? Rosie's friend Emily?" Emmett sounded puzzled. "What's she got to do with it? Is she Wispy's shrink now? I told Rose you'd never go for it."

"If it means maybe changing your minds about putting her picture out there, I'm willing to take a chance."

"Well, hell." The sound of Emmett scratching his neck reached Edward's ears. "I dunno. I don't think the Chief would change his mind. Scott might. But Ed, you can't get her a shrink just for that."

Edward didn't care. "I'm calling Scott now."

"Ed—"

He hung up on Emmett and dialed Wisp's social worker.

Scott didn't answer, but Edward left a message, then called Rose since he had no idea how to get in touch with Emily. Rosalie agreed to bring her over, but only if she stayed to "mediate"—Rose's words, not his. He agreed because, really, what choice did he have? This was the one thing he could think of that might save Wisp from having her picture disseminated to the world.

Rosalie and Emily arrived before Scott returned Edward's call, and he let them in with a quick touch of his finger to his lips to warn them that Wisp was asleep. "Voices don't usually bother her," he said as they settled in chairs, "but I don't want to be too loud." He took his seat in the corner of the couch, Wisp's socked feet brushing his leg.

"Look..." Rosalie scowled. "I didn't want you to meet like that. It was just...don't take this the wrong way, Ed, but you have no clue what to do when she freaks out. I thought if she was so upset, an expert couldn't hurt."

Edward swore Rose got bigger every time he saw her. She really looked pregnant now, not just like a girl with a big belly. He did his best not to scowl back at her. "I'd like to move forward, not look back. Wisp needs a therapist. I've known that from the beginning. It's up to her to decide who she likes." His eyes flicked to Emily. "I'm Edward Cullen, Wisp's caretaker right now."

"Emily Young. You remember my credentials? I can repeat them."

Edward shook his head. That wasn't necessary. He dropped his hand to cup Wisp's foot through the blanket, holding on gently. "I guess I'm wondering what sort of plan you have—recommendations, whatever. I'm also concerned about a proposal from the police." He explained what they wanted to do, and why he didn't like it. "I was hoping you could tell them, or tell her social worker, that it's not a good idea. I know it's bad for her, but I don't have the right degree so they don't pay attention."

"Well." Emily regarded him. Wisp's dark eyes were a soft, sweet brown, where Emily's were sharp and black. It was a little odd for Edward, but she wasn't threatening. "Can I ask you a question?"

He nodded.

"In general, you trust the local police, right? You believe they're competent, you feel safe in your home and around town?"

Edward nodded again.

"And Emmett, he's your friend. He doesn't spend all day with Wisp like you do, but he knows her, doesn't he?"

"Yes." Edward suspected he knew where this was going, and he didn't particularly like it.

"So, if you trust them with your safety, why does it seem as if you don't trust them with hers?"

Because her safety was far more important than his own. Because he didn't have filthy monsters potentially looking for him. Because he'd promised her—_promised_—that she was safe with him. "I get it," he said, jaw tightening. He rubbed his thumb over the warm blanket covering Wisp's foot. She shifted underneath, but did not wake. There went his hope of avoiding the media. Emily wasn't going to back him.

"It's normal to feel concern for the safety of those in your care." Emily's voice was smooth and calm. She wasn't lecturing at him as Dr. Lawton had tried to do. "In some ways, you must feel almost like a parent to her. Am I right?"

"Yeah." Edward squeezed her foot gently. "I mean, yes and no. It's complicated. I don't know. I'm not her dad, but I'm responsible for her. Does that make sense?"

"Of course." Emily smiled. The scar tissue on one side of her face pulled tight and Edward wondered if it hurt, but he wasn't rude enough to ask. "I'm sure you're tired of hearing it, but your situation is very unusual. I'd be surprised if you weren't confused." She folded her hands together and tapped them against her mouth. "To start, let's talk a little about the technical stuff. Wisp is currently a ward of the state, correct?"

"Yes." Edward glanced at the girl sleeping beside him. "Emmett says the only way to really change that is adoption, which..." He shrugged. "I don't know. It doesn't seem right. I'm not her parent and I don't want to be, and we're so close in age, I think if I tried the courts wouldn't say yes anyway."

Emily nodded. "I'm not judging. I just want to keep everything above-board as far as the red tape goes. If she's a ward of the state, it's the state's job to assign her a therapist, not yours. I can't imagine her social worker disagreeing with whatever she wants, considering she needs to be able to trust her therapist, but it's still a hurdle that needs to be jumped."

"I've already put a call in to him," Edward said. "I imagine he'll call back sometime this afternoon."

"Well, assuming he agrees, I'm willing to give this a try." Emily glanced at Rose, then back at Edward. "We've got some...sticky ethical issues, though. She seems unable at the moment to make decisions about her own medical care—would you agree?"

"Yeah." Edward squeezed Wisp's foot again. He didn't like to admit it, because he _knew_ she was intelligent. But right now she just didn't have the language skills to comprehend those sorts of questions or communicate her desires. "I don't know...sometimes it feels like she understands a lot more than she says. Other times she's just...blank. I can't really describe it, but yeah. She can't make those decisions for herself. Not right now." Later, he hoped, they'd get her there. Someday.

"Then, once again, it's her social worker's job to decide who can sit in on therapy sessions with her, or receive information afterward." Emily turned to Rose and grinned. "Sorry, sugar. I know you want to be there for her, but her social worker probably won't agree."

Rose made a face. "Yeah. I figured. He's a pansy, but he seems to have a thing for the rules." She air-quoted the last two words.

"It's kind of his job, you know."

"Whatever. He's gonna let Edward stay, right?"

"How would I know that?"

Edward felt a surge of panic. It hadn't occurred to him that he might need permission to stay with Wisp during her therapy sessions, or that Scott might not grant it. Nobody else understood her like he did. She didn't trust anyone else quite so far, not even Esme. He didn't like this. Didn't like it at all.

"Look, I'm not going to lie to you." Emily turned back to Edward. Her intelligent eyes were frank as she looked at him. He saw her gaze flick down to his hand on Wisp's foot, then back to his face. "No matter who she chooses as her therapist, this is gonna be hard on both of you. _All_ of you. The thing people don't understand is, most of the time, therapy isn't something that happens in isolation. It's a tool that can be useful if done correctly, and the best way is for _everyone_ involved in a situation to participate. That might mean you and Wisp together sometimes and apart sometimes. It might mean group sessions with the people closest to her, the ones you'd consider like family to the both of you. It's also going to mean a lot of work, and a lot of change. My job, the job of any good therapist, is to offer support while pushing forward. To prevent stagnation. Backsliding and regression are inevitable, but they can't be allowed to halt progress permanently."

Edward thought he understood what she was trying to tell him. Things would have to change. Wisp would have to be pushed. He didn't like it, but he recognized that keeping her safe in this warm little bubble wasn't a long-term solution. Not if she was ever going to move forward, to be more than a pet, a child, something in need of constant care. He didn't mind the caregiving, but she deserved the chance for more. To become the person hiding inside, the person he saw last night when she held his face in her hands and stared deep into his eyes. It wasn't going to be easy, but he couldn't stand in her way.

"I don't like it," he said. "I don't like the thought of anything causing her pain or frustration. But I don't have to like it. I just have to make sure it's not harming her."

Emily nodded slowly. "Then, Edward, I think we can probably work together. One thing I—"

She was interrupted by the rattling of the front door, and Wisp flinched and woke as Emmett strode inside. "Not cool to hang up on the police, Ed."

Edward opened his arms as Wisp scrambled into them, gathering her close and tucking her blanket around her again. "It's okay," he said as she rubbed her face against his shoulder, her sleepy eyes squinted in confusion. "It's just Emmett. You know he's loud."

"I am not!"

"You are, too," Rose said. "You woke her up."

"You're not even supposed to be here," her boyfriend challenged.

"Bite me."

Wisp whimpered at the loud voices, and Edward tightened his arms. "Shh," he whispered. "It's okay. You know they're always like that."

"My Edward?"

"Yes, pretty girl. I'm yours, and you have nothing to worry about." He kissed her forehead, and her tense body relaxed minutely.

"Sorry, man." Emmett perched on the arm of the couch. "Didn't mean to scare little Wispy. But you were telling me about her drawing and then you hung up. I didn't know if you still wanted me to come over or not, so I did."

Right. Wisp's drawing. Edward jerked his chin toward the kitchen. "It's on the table in there. Be careful, I don't want her to see it again." Drawing it had been enough.

"She drew something?" Rose levered herself out of her chair. "Lemme see."

"I'm not so sure you want—" Edward gave up. She wasn't listening to him anyway.

"Mother_fucker_!" Rosalie bit out a moment later from the kitchen. Wisp flinched; Edward held her tighter. "Did she give you a name? Emmett, I swear to god, when you find this bastard, you keep him the hell away from me unless you want the mother of your child going to jail for murder."

"No name." Edward watched as Emmett came back into the living room with the drawing. He handed it to Emily. "I asked and I really believe she tried to answer, but she couldn't."

"What if you—"

Edward's phone buzzed in his pocket. He managed to dig it out while still holding Wisp, though she whined a soft complaint at being jostled.

Scott.

"Hey," Edward answered. "Thanks for calling me back."

"No trouble at all, Dr. Cullen. I'm glad to hear from you. Dr. Whitlock says you're both on the mend."

"We are, thank you." Edward held up a hand to the other people in the room. "I had some questions for you—I'm going to put you on speaker, okay?" He turned on the speaker, then put the phone on the coffee table. "Emmett and Rosalie are here, and someone named Emily Young. She's interested in being Wisp's therapist."

"Hi," Emily said. "Sorry to dump this on you so suddenly. I'm a friend of a friend, I guess you could say."

"Scott Williams," came the answer from the phone. "Wisp's social worker. I'm with Adult Protective Services for the state."

"I'm a PMHNP. I'm sure Edward has your contact information, I can send you my credentials and we can talk later."

"Yes, thank you. Was that what you wanted to discuss, Dr. Cullen?"

"Edward, please."

"_My_ Edward."

The room was silent for a moment after Wisp's declaration. Edward couldn't help his smile. Yes, he was hers. She had him wrapped around her little finger—everyone knew it, denial was pointless.

"Well, hello, Wisp." Scott sounded about as surprised as Edward felt. "I didn't expect to hear from you today. How are you? Do you remember me?"

She slid down from Edward's lap, kneeling next to the coffee table, and stuck her head close to the phone. "My Edward," she repeated.

"I don't think anyone disputes that. Edward, how is she?"

"Tired and still running a low fever as of last night, but she's eating and I can tell she's feeling better."

"That's good. And the cat?"

"Back. Broken leg, but back." Edward exhaled slowly. "I got it microchipped. I don't want anything like that to happen again."

"Pets go missing. I know she didn't take it well, but I'm not sure there's anything you could have done to prevent it."

"Pet," Wisp piped up. "My Pet. _Mine_."

"You're talkative today. You must be feeling better." Scott sounded pleased. "Are you glad to have your pet back?"

"Pet hurt," she told the little black rectangle sitting on the coffee table. "Ow. My Pet. Help."

"She's really taking ownership of the cat," Edward said proudly. "She's fed her own her own twice now, and I don't see any sign that she wants to stop."

"I have to tell you, Edward...what you've managed to do with her so far—it's more than I ever really expected, to be honest. When we first saw her at West Highland and when I hear her now, it's like night and day. You've done a remarkable job."

"_She's_ done a remarkable job." Edward smiled at the girl kneeling on the floor in front of him. "I haven't really done much."

"You've made her feel safe and comfortable enough to come out of her shell. That's huge. I know you've had doubts but, for what it's worth, I don't. I think you're quite possibly the best thing that's ever happened to her."

Considering the drawings she'd made and the nightmares she had, Edward doubted that was saying much.

Scott paused. "My schedule...I'm pretty full today, but I can stop by tomorrow if that's okay with you?"

"Whenever you want." Edward didn't mind Scott's visits as long as he didn't bring Dr. Lawton along. "Have the Forks police talked to you lately?"

"About disseminating her picture? Yeah."

Edward tried to hold in the scowl that wanted to crawl across his face. "I don't like it."

"I figured you wouldn't. But what do you suggest? They'll try to keep her as sheltered as possible, the chief already promised me. They'll just circulate a photo and ask for information—they won't say anything about her situation."

Emmett had already told him that, but Edward didn't care. He still didn't like it. "I'm not trying to be obstructionist, I swear. I just don't want her getting hurt."

"Nobody does. We'll keep her protected, Edward. That's my job, and theirs as well."

Edward already knew he didn't have a choice. But it didn't make him like the situation any better. "She drew another picture," he told the social worker. "Last night. You can see it tomorrow." Hell, he could _take_ it, or give it to the police. Edward didn't want that thing in his house any longer than it had to be. "The same guy with the tattoos."

"Still no name?"

"No, no name." Edward chewed on the inside of his cheek. "She said the word 'own,' though."

"Own?" Scott sounded intrigued. "Not Owen?"

"No." Edward was fairly sure about that. He could hear her soft little voice in his head. _Own, Edward. Own_. Not Owen.

Wisp's head snapped up, dark eyes going wide, and she pushed back against the couch. Her arms encircled one of Edward's legs, hugging it to her body. "No!" She held on tightly. "No, Edward! Bad!"

Fuck.

"Hey, little Wisp, it's okay." He picked her up, and she buried herself against him. Her thin little body trembled in his arms. "What's wrong? A word can't hurt you."

"No," she pleaded. "Bad! Hurt!"

"Okay," Edward said, "okay." He didn't want to push her right now. Preventing a meltdown was more important. He pointed to Emmett, then to the little black cat asleep under the coffee table. "You can have Pet, okay? You're fine. You're safe."

Emmett lifted the cat wordlessly. When she saw it, Wisp opened her arms and clutched the animal close. Instead of biting and wiggling away as Edward half expected, Pet let herself be hugged. He wondered if maybe the little furball knew when it was needed the most.

"My Pet." Her voice was adamant, forceful. "Mine. My Pet, my Edward. My home. No _own_. Bad!"

"Shh, I understand, sweetheart." Edward held her as she cuddled her cat and hid her face in its black fur. No, he didn't actually understand, but he knew the word upset her and that was enough. "Calm down, please. You're safe here."

"I'm very interested in that picture now." The connection crackled, static muting Scott's voice for a moment. "Does eleven or so work for you, Edward?"

"Yeah, it's fine." Whatever. He had more important things to worry about right now. "Look, I think—"

"You do what you have to do." Scott didn't sound offended. "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

Once everyone left, Edward turned to the girl in his lap, holding her black cat and stroking its fur. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I did my best, but it's not my decision to make. If it was, no one but our friends and family would know where you are."

"My Edward." She smiled up at him. The open sweetness in her eyes made his heart hurt. "Good Edward."

He just hoped she'd still think so in a day or two. Once her photo went out, they had to be prepared for just about anything.

He wasn't prepared at seven-thirty the next morning, though, when Emmett shook him awake, looking grave. Without a word, Edward eased a sleeping Wisp to the mattress and covered her with his blankets before following his friend downstairs.

Without a word, Emmett handed him a folded, handwritten piece of paper.

_To Whom It May Concern,_

_Officers from your police department came to my house several weeks ago, asking for information about a man by the name of Gerandy who might be a doctor or have something to do with a young assault victim. I know you must have plenty of leads and a lot of work to do, so I apologize for giving you more. I thought a lot about it before writing to you. When the officer came to the house, my husband was home. I didn't want to say anything in front of him. He doesn't know how I feel about his brother, or why._

_I wish I could give you something clearer, but this is what I have. My husband Daniel's brother, Leonard, was a dermatologist before he gave up his license as part of a malpractice lawsuit. I don't know what the suit was about, only that he stayed out of criminal court by agreeing to a settlement. I also don't know what he does for a living now, he's very evasive on the subject and my husband has told me not to pester him. _

_I wouldn't have even thought anything, but your officer mentioned a young victim. I don't know how young, he didn't give many details. But...this is what my husband doesn't know. I've always been uncomfortable about the way his brother looks at our children. I have asked them many times, especially when they were younger, and they've always told me he's never touched them inappropriately. And how can I tell my husband my fears without any evidence? I thought for a long time that I wouldn't call or write to you, that I'd leave you alone to do your work. But something, I don't know, maybe it's the mother in me, wouldn't let me forget. I don't know how old your victim is, and I don't know what the man you're looking for has done to her. But I'm a mom, and if I was in her mother's place, I'd want everyone to speak up, even if it might be nothing. Because you never know. My children are older now, but I remember how I felt when they were little and I'd catch their uncle looking at them. I can't explain it and maybe I'm paranoid, but it just never seemed...right. _

_I apologize if I've wasted your time. I wish you the best of luck in your case._

_Sincerely,_

_Cecelia Gerandy_

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone who helped me with legal stuff in this chapter! And thank you to all my lovely reviewers! I'm continually blown away by the way you've opened your hearts to these characters!

BUT, to the anon "reviewer" who keeps telling me to write Glee stories instead, please stop? I can't respond to you because you don't login. I've learned that I can only handle one fic at a time right now, but that doesn't mean I've abandoned anything. Pushing doesn't help. I'm sorry if you're disappointed.

On a happier note, let's support a new author! CrazyKitteh (crazykittehcat on Twitter) is not new to the fandom, but she's JUST started writing. It's a vulnerable time and a big transition - let's show her some love? s/8914604/1/I-Don-t-Love-Anyone

Mwah! Love to all of you!

Oh, ONE more thing! The Christmas outtake comes after this chapter. I may try to move it, I may keep it where it is. But if you haven't read it, now's a good time. :)


	42. Chapter 42

A/N: Hello lovelies! This is kind of a transitional chapter—it's necessary, sorry! For those who didn't see the note at the end of the last chapter, the Christmas outtake comes BEFORE this. So if you haven't done so, go read that first. I poked around to see if I could move it from there to here, but it looks like I can't.

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

Edward wished he was five years old again, for a couple of reasons.

One, he was pretty sure nobody except a five-year-old could enjoy peanut butter sandwiches with the blatant joy that Wisp did.

Two, he really _really_ wanted to ignore Emmett in an I'm-not-speaking-to-you sort of way.

But he wasn't in kindergarten, nor was he a teenage girl, and he didn't have the luxury of pouting. Wisp deserved better.

Fuck, he wished he could, though.

She looked up at him from her cushion, mouth full of peanut butter and strawberry jam. A closed-lipped smile split her face, her sweet brown eyes sparkling, and Edward couldn't help smiling back. Not when she looked at him like that. She worked the sticky peanut butter around in her mouth, which was his ulterior motive for giving it to her. Sometimes she bolted her food quickly, as if she thought someone might take it away, and gave herself hiccups. It was impossible to do that with peanut butter.

Emily was coming by that afternoon for her first official meeting as Wisp's therapist. Edward still wasn't sure about this, but he was grateful, at least, that Emily promised to take things slow and discuss her methods with him beforehand. They could not jump straight into traditional talk therapy because of Wisp's limited language skills, so Edward was curious about her plans.

But Emily Young wasn't the only thing on his mind today.

He was having trouble with Emmett. While he was big enough to admit that the trouble was mostly on his end, not Emmett's, it didn't change how he felt. Emmett was his friend, but where Wisp was concerned he was a police officer first, and Edward didn't like it. He didn't like that he was now at odds with one of his oldest friends because of their respective jobs. Emmett was lead on Wisp's case, tasked with finding the people who had hurt her so badly. Edward felt it was far more important to make sure she was never hurt again.

And therein lay the problem.

Ever since the tip from Cecelia Gerandy came in, Edward had pushed to keep Wisp's photo out of the press. They had a good lead, he argued. They should follow up on it instead of releasing her picture.

Emmett disagreed.

It was now January third, a new year, and the Forks police had called a press conference to disseminate Wisp's photo that morning. Edward refused to watch. He fed Wisp toasted English muffins topped with eggs and cheese and tomatoes instead, his ward blissfully unaware of just how many people would see her face by the end of the day.

The holidays had been a quiet reprieve, but they couldn't last. Even the little things Emmett did that were just...Emmett...irritated Edward now that he was already on edge. When the man tried to get Wisp drunk on champagne New Year's Eve, for instance, Edward wasn't able to just laugh it off. The fact that she'd screwed up her delicate features into a tight lemon-face and refused to drink more than a sip only placated him a little.

"More?" Wisp held out her empty cup, a smear of jam on her upper lip, and Edward smiled in spite of himself as he fetched her more milk. Luckily, she showed no signs of lactose intolerance. He was glad, considering Jasper's insistence that calcium was incredibly important and supplements could only do so much.

"Do you remember Emily?" he asked as he brought her milk and settled himself on the couch. "She's coming over soon. I have no idea what she's going to do, but we'll be seeing a lot of her." If Wisp accepted her, of course. Everything hinged on that relationship. Without it, Emily kept stressing, any attempt at therapy was pointless.

Scott had approved Emily's placement as Wisp's therapist for now, with the understanding that it might take several tries with different professionals before they found a good fit. He'd shared her file already, Edward knew, but Emily stressed that she would get a clearer idea of what was needed from Wisp and Edward than from Scott's paperwork.

"I don't want you to be afraid. She wants to help, but only you can decide if you want it."

Wisp ignored him, drinking milk while her kitten hovered, pleading for a taste.

"Yeah, I know. You don't worry about the future like I do." But one of them had to.

* * *

Emily arrived soon after he'd helped Wisp clean her sticky fingers, and he tried to smile as he let her in even though his stomach felt sick with nerves. "The door's usually unlocked during the day," he told her, waving her inside and offering to take her coat. "I'm a little out of practice at answering it."

"How are you?" She carried a messenger bag—much less intimidating than Dr. Lawton's briefcase. "Your holidays?"

"Fine. Good." Edward resisted the impulse to rub his palms on his jeans. He wasn't usually nervous around people, but this was a situation he couldn't control, and he was extremely uncomfortable with that. "I'm sure Rosalie already told you most of it."

"She did, but that doesn't mean your account would be the same as hers. Two people can see the same situation very differently." She smiled, but didn't press him further on the topic. "I want to introduce myself to Wisp officially. Is that okay with you?"

"Of course." Edward breathed an inward sigh of relief. It was amazing how much that simple question set him at ease. Emily was in control here—or Wisp was, Edward wasn't too sure about that—but he felt more settled when he was included.

Rosalie's friend set her bag on a chair and folded herself to the floor, not too close to Wisp. "Hello," she said. Edward stood back, watching as Wisp scrutinized her with those big, soft brown eyes. "My name is Emily. Emily Young. I've been here before, but we haven't been properly introduced." She held out her hand.

Wisp stared at the outstretched hand, but didn't take it. She wrinkled her nose and looked at Edward in entreaty.

"You're fine, little Wisp." It was difficult not to go to her, but he did his best. Emily wasn't hurting her and as much as he wanted to, he couldn't always be there to soothe every little anxiety. "Everything's okay."

"Emily," Emily repeated. She pulled her hand back and touched her sternum. "Emily."

A flicker of recognition crossed Wisp's face. She brought a hand up to her own chest. "Wisp."

Emily smiled. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

"Edward," Wisp continued, pointing at the man standing behind Emily. "Pet." She picked up her half-grown kitten and rubbed her face against its scruffy fur.

"Yeah? Are they your family, Edward and Pet?"

Wisp didn't answer. Though Esme swore that she was starting to understand the concept of a family, the word still hadn't entered her vocabulary. "Ow," she said instead, touching Pet's pink cast with gentle fingers. "Hurt."

"Yes. Rosalie told me she got lost. I'm sure you're glad to have her back."

"Back," Wisp mimicked. "Gone. Back. Mine. My Pet." She released the cat, who darted away from the stranger, and pulled herself to her knees. Her hand reached out, tracing lightly along the raised lines of scar tissue on Emily's face. "Hurt?"

Edward winced. His Wisp didn't mean to be rude, but she had very little knowledge about social etiquette.

Emily didn't bat an eye, though. She nodded slowly. "Yes, I was hurt by a bad man. So were you, weren't you?"

"Hurt. Ow." Wisp sucked her lower lip into her mouth and let her hand drop. "Hurt Rose." She touched her arm in just the spot where Rose was scarred, where the bigger woman's elbow jutted out at an odd angle since the shattered joint never quite healed properly.

"Yes. Unfortunately, there are bad people in the world who think it's okay to hurt. Some of them can be helped and taught, and some of them can't."

Edward wondered which category the people in Wisp's past fell into. The latter, he suspected, at least for the tattooed man she'd now drawn twice.

Wisp didn't respond, though she continued to watch Emily intently. Other than Dr. Lawton, who had terrified her from the start, she seemed to trust women much more easily than men. Even Emmett, who she saw often, and Garrett, who shared her love of art, were not entirely "safe" in her eyes. She was getting better around Jasper and Carlisle, but Edward doubted she really trusted any man except for himself.

"So. I really have no idea how much you understand, but I'd very much like to ask you a question." Emily's bright black eyes never left Wisp. Edward liked how invested she was in keeping Wisp her focal point despite the girl's problems with language. He was used to acting almost as her interpreter, but Emily didn't seem to want that. "Tell me about Wisp. What would you like me to know about you?"

Silence.

It was a big question even for someone who understood it. Edward moved to the couch and seated himself, watching the two women on the floor intently. Wisp chewed on her lip, playing with the soft flesh as she stared at Emily.

"What sort of things do you like? Or not like? What's good, Wisp? What's bad?"

"Good Wisp?" Wisp wrinkled her nose, obviously misunderstanding the question. "Good Edward. Good Pet."

"Yeah? You like Edward and Pet? What else? What else is good?"

Edward could see from the line between her eyebrows that Wisp was struggling to understand and respond. "Good..." She bit harder on her lip. He wanted to tug it free so she didn't hurt herself, but it was pointless; she just sucked it right back into her mouth whenever he tried. "Mother. Mother good. Rose good. A-lice good."

"Mother? Who is mother?"

"My mother, Esme." Edward was a little surprised she didn't already know. Rose seemed to tell her everything.

Emily looked up at him with mild surprise, as if she'd expected Wisp to answer the question. He doubted she would have, though. She knew Esme's name, but that wasn't the point. "What else?" she prompted Wisp. "I like sunshine, so to me, sunshine is good. I also like dogs. I'll bring my dog, Jake, to meet you sometime." She tapped her sternum. "I...like...dogs," she said slowly, holding Wisp's eyes. "What do you like? What makes Wisp happy?"

Wisp's face contorted as she concentrated hard on her therapist's words. "Wisp," she said slowly. "Wisp...like..."

"Yes, good!" Emily encouraged when she faltered. "What does Wisp like?"

"Pancakes." The moment the question clicked in her head, Wisp's face relaxed and she offered a real smile.

"I like pancakes, too. What else?"

"Bath!" Wisp's eyes sparkled. "Socks. Sleep. Peter. Paint. Pencil. Read. Pet—my Pet. Edward. Home. Cake. Christmas." She rattled the words off quickly in her haste to share the list of things she loved.

"Peter?"

"Peter," Wisp said with a nod. She fetched her book from its spot on the shelf and held it up. "Peter."

"Oh, that Peter. I like him, too." Emily took the book when Wisp offered it and slowly turned the pages, looking at the illustrations.

"Rose give." Wisp crept closer, inching alongside so she could also see into the book. "Rose give Peter."

"Rose is a very kind person."

"Rose good," Wisp agreed.

They spent a good twenty minutes going through the book, Wisp pointing out this or that picture, doing her best to speak in her broken words. She clearly liked Peter better than any of the other characters, and she pushed past illustrations of Captain Hook with a little shiver. When they were done, Emily gave the book back. "Thank you for sharing that with me. Is there anything else you'd like to show me?"

Concepts were difficult to explain but, once Wisp understood, she was eager to show Emily everything about her little world. She proudly displayed her art supplies, and the cupboard in the kitchen where Pet's food and dishes were kept. "Mine," she said, pointing to the blanket-fort still set up under the kitchen table. Her DVD player lived there, among the rumpled blankets, though she had not yet deigned to watch anything but Peter Pan. After the Bambi fiasco, Edward refused to push the issue.

When Wisp was finished, Emily thanked her again. Wisp yawned, casting a glance at the soft little cave under the kitchen table.

"You can go," Emily said. "I appreciate everything you've told me today." Straightening, she turned to Edward. "Do you mind showing me around? I'd like to see how the house is set up, and hear about how she spends her days."

"Sure," Edward agreed, watching Wisp crawl back toward the kitchen, making kissing noises for her cat. It was something new she'd only recently learned to do—under Alice's tutelage, of course. They walked through the house, first downstairs, then up, as Edward described Wisp's days and responded to questions as best he could..

"Does she have a routine? When does she get up in the morning?"

"Whenever." Edward wasn't so sure Emily would like that answer. "I don't make her get up until she's ready. She's so delicate, and she needs her sleep."

"Does she tend to wake up around the same time every day?"

"Not really."

"How many hours would you say she sleeps in an average night?"

Edward thought about it. "To be honest, she can sleep ten hours at a time."

"And then nap during the day?"

"Yeah." He tugged on his hair. "Sometimes in the morning. Almost always after lunch." If she was comfortable enough with Emily in the house, she was probably nodding off now, in fact.

Emily made no comments about anything Edward said, asking for clarification but offering no opinions. He tried to be as honest as possible, even when he didn't think she'd necessarily be pleased with his answers. He admitted that she still slept on top of him in his bed, and that he helped her bathe and dress, though she was slowly beginning to do more of that on her own. He showed her "Wisp's" room, which held her clothes and was cluttered with art supplies, but she never actually used. Emily smiled as Edward explained the blanket-fort still set up under the kitchen table, where Wisp often chose to nap if she didn't fall asleep in his lap. He respected that soft little cave as her personal space, and did not enter it. Emily seemed pleased by that, but she didn't say anything. He explained about her eating habits, which had improved a great deal since her illness. She was happy to eat just about anything put in front of her, but she loved starches the best, and she had a serious sweet tooth her friends and family couldn't help but indulge. Her weight had dropped into the eighties when she was sick, but she'd slowly started gaining back that loss.

After the tour and questions, they returned downstairs to find that, yes, Wisp had fallen asleep in the meantime. She'd crawled into her little cave, arms wrapped around a teddy bear Alice had given her, since Pet apparently did not care to be snuggled at the moment. Emily smiled when they found her.

"So...what now?" Edward couldn't help asking. He was extremely nervous about what Emily might say. Their day-to-day routine wasn't perfect, and he knew that. He wasn't stupid. But that didn't make it any easier to hear criticism.

"Now you relax," she said. "I need some time to think about everything I've observed, and come up with recommendations. When I come back the day after tomorrow, we'll talk a little bit more about how to move forward."

"Not even a hint?" He managed a weak smile.

Emily chuckled. "You have to know that a schedule is a must. A set time she goes to bed, a set time she wakes up. Believe it or not, it will help her immensely. I understand why you want to let her sleep, believe me, I do. But I promise, a schedule will benefit you both." She settled on a chair, and Edward sat on the couch. "Art, visual art, is an avenue I'm going to pursue with her. She's obviously gifted, but that's not the only thing her paintings and drawings tell me."

"What else is there to know?"

Emily pulled out her phone and tapped at it for a moment, then passed it to Edward. He blanched as he saw on the screen a scan of the first drawing Wisp had made of the tattooed man. "Here," she said, "she didn't draw herself. It's clear the scene is meant to be from her perspective, but she is not technically in the drawing. But there," she pointed to the painting Wisp had made of herself in Edward's arms, which he'd framed and hung on the wall, "she's painted herself. It's quite significant."

"It is?"

"Yes. It means that she knows herself, physically. She knows what she looks like. She associates her body, her physical presence, with who she is mentally and emotionally. It's a fascinating piece, truly. That painting gives us the chance to see how she sees herself, and how she sees you. I'd love a scan to study at length, to be honest. I think there are clues there, in her choice of strokes and colors, even in the relative sizes of the figures. She's drawn herself smaller in your arms than she really is—did you notice?"

No, he hadn't. "I guess she just seems small to me," he said, shaking his head. "When I hold her, she feels so fragile, so delicate."

"It's just something to think about." Emily looked at the painting again. "I'm definitely going to see what we can learn from her art. Not just the way the police have gone about it, asking her to draw people from her past. Art isn't just photorealism. It's emotive. It's an outlet. I want her to see the possibilities her talent gives her. Even if she starts getting Jackson Pollock-y. It's not about beauty so much as a way to express things she can't verbalize."

"What about walking and stuff? Will you have anything to do with that?"

"Mm. That's more her physician's job, though I'm happy to work with him. As we move further along, incorporating emotional therapy with physical therapy might be beneficial. Working on her independence is a must, though. I'm sure you already know that."

"Yeah." Edward knew. "I'm happy about that, but it's also going to be strange. I'm so used to doing almost everything for her."

"The goal isn't to sever her ties to you; that's the most important thing to understand, I think. You and I need to be in agreement, Edward, or this is never going to work."

Edward knew that, he did. And for Wisp's sake, he was really going to try. "She's not a child. I get that. And I want her to be successful—to do whatever she's capable of. I just worry, because she's not like normal people, and trying to pretend she is, is ridiculous. Like, I mean, I can't punish her. God." He shook his head. "I can't even think about it. And up till now I haven't really needed to. She doesn't do things that merit consequences. But she will at some point, I know she will, and I won't know what to do."

Emily cocked her head slightly to the side, considering him with her calm, intelligent gaze. "I wasn't going to bring it up immediately, but you need someone you can talk to just as much as Wisp does. There's nothing wrong with you—that's not what I mean. But you've been dragged into this situation you weren't prepared for, a situation you _couldn't_ be prepared for. I certainly can't make you do anything, but I do recommend it. It doesn't have to be me. If you feel more comfortable talking to a man, or someone older—whatever works for you."

Edward shrugged. He'd more or less expected her to say something like that, and he understood. He wasn't against the idea, necessarily. But Wisp was, and would always be, his primary focus. She was more important than anything else.

"It might be useful for you to keep a notebook, paper or electronic, of questions you have, like the punishment one you just mentioned. Jot them down when they come up, and we can go over them. It's important for all of us to be on the same page, and I can do my job so much better if I know what you're thinking."

"Yeah, I can do that." It actually felt a little freeing, knowing they could begin to tackle concrete problems. The word "therapy" was nebulous, its meaning hard to pin down. It wasn't a magic cure, either; Wisp could not be quickly "therapied" and suddenly fixed. Realistically, this was the start of something she would probably do for the rest of her life in one way or another. "What about that punishment thing?"

"It's a very good question." Emily pulled the strap of her messenger bag further up her shoulder. "You do have to tread carefully with victims of abuse, it's true. But she won't hate you for setting limits and enforcing boundaries, and I think that's what you're really worried about. If done correctly, it will likely be a relief to her, in fact. Think of it this way—if you don't give her boundaries, she gives them to herself. It's clear that she does, because she's not wild and out of control. She contains herself out of fear because, no matter how much she trusts you, she doesn't know where the lines are. If we can give that to her, she'll be much more comfortable. And if you think about it, your limits are probably far less severe than the ones she inflicts on her own self."

That was definitely true. Edward could recall plenty of instances when she snatched her hand back from something she'd reached for, or halted some activity, and looked at him for guidance. He constantly reassured her that she was okay, and not in trouble, but...what would she be like, he wondered, if she could act freely without that fear? It was something he'd never even considered.

"Don't feel guilty." Emily chuckled as she stood to leave. "I see that look on your face. You do so much for her. I don't want you to think any suggestions or changes from me mean you've done something wrong. We're all in uncharted territory here. I think what you've given her until now is the best foundation she could possibly get. She trusts you. She obviously cares a great deal for you—it's there, in that painting, and in her eyes when she looks at you. That's what she needed more than anything else."

* * *

Emmett showed up that evening with a package of Oreos for Wisp and a penitent expression.

"I'm sorry, man," he said as Edward opened the packaging and gave Wisp a glass of milk. "I know this isn't what you wanted."

"No, it isn't." Edward knew he shouldn't be pissed at Emmett, who was only doing his job, but it was difficult sometimes. Wisp was his responsibility, but she was more than that. She was...important. Special. Endangering her just wasn't an option, not for him. He looked at her, seated on her cushion on the floor. She selected a cookie with the tips of her fingers and inspected it closely, bringing the dark circle up to her nose and sniffing. When she took a first, hesitant bite, the crunchy cookie crumbled down her front.

"Sorry," she said quickly, brushing at her shirt.

"You don't have to be sorry for that." Edward touched her cheek with his fingers, brushing away crumbs. "Just enjoy, okay?"

Mouth full of cookie, she gave him a closed-lipped smile and hummed her appreciation for the treat.

"I'm doing what I can." Emmett sat with a groan and rubbed a hand over his face. "I let you see that letter. It's technically not allowed, you know." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "We're gonna keep her safe, Ed. I promise. Whoever's on patrol, they'll come by every few hours, at least for the first couple of weeks, even though you and Esme and Carlisle aren't linked to her as far as the public knows."

"Let's keep it that way." Edward reached out and took a cookie. "Can I show you something, little Wisp?"

She watched attentively, still chewing, as Edward twisted the two halves of the Oreo apart. It had been a while since he'd had an Oreo, but his hands remembered the motion. One half came away bare, the other topped with the creamy white filling.

"Um!" Wisp eagerly took both halves and her pink tongue poked out to lick the sugary center.

"She's definitely cute." Emmett leaned back. "Fuck, man, I can't imagine. If Rosie and me have a girl, you know? I won't sleep at night. Or I'll sleep on the floor against her door, and put bars on the window. I get that bad stuff happens to little boys, too, but with girls it's like it never ends. Growing up doesn't help anything. Wispy's practically grown, and look at her."

Wisp's head popped up at the sound of her name. Pet jumped onto the low coffee table, her pink cast clunking, and pushed close to the unattended glass of milk. Edward picked up the cat and was bit for his trouble before he put her back on the floor.

"What are you doing about the letter?" He wasn't interested in hearing apologies for something he knew Emmett wasn't sorry for. The choice had been made to put her photo out there despite his objections, and there was nothing he could do about it. Since it couldn't be changed, he'd rather just push forward.

"We sent some boys to talk to her when her husband wasn't around. She confirmed what she said in the letter, and gave us an address for the brother-in-law."

"Was he on the list of Gerandys you talked to?"

"Yeah. He didn't let us take a photo, but plenty of guys said no. It didn't raise any suspicions."

"I thought you said you looked for anyone with a criminal past."

"We did. But the malpractice claim never went to trial; he settled out of court. There was nothing to find." Emmett dug his fingers deep into his curly hair. "Cecelia gave us a recent photo. I want to show it to Wispy now that she's feeling better."

Edward nodded. He didn't like the thought of potentially scaring her, but showing her a photo of Leonard Gerandy seemed like the most sensible option. Either she'd recognize him, or she wouldn't. They'd have their answer. "Where does he live?"

"Puyallup. South Puget Sound, off the I-5 corridor. She's in Aberdeen, says his area's like a muddy Alabama. Churches and trailers, hardly anything but a reservation, churches, and trailers."

"I want to see his file."

Emmett groaned. "There's nothing incriminating in there, Ed, I swear to God. Zilch. We woulda found it if there was. He told us he was retired, which may or may not be true, considering he lost his medical license. The boys who talked to him didn't notice anything unusual. He's got no criminal record. The guy's squeaky-clean on paper."

Edward remembered being told that everyone involved probably would be. Otherwise, someone would have found out about Wisp before this. Wouldn't they? "Where's his photo?"

He wasn't sure Emmett would show him, but after a moment Emmett dug his phone out of his pocket. He tapped through it until he found what he wanted, then held it up to Edward.

The man was older than Edward expected, and definitely not the man with tattoos Wisp had drawn. Why had he expected someone younger? He didn't really know. After all, Wisp had to have been abused from a young age, and she was physically an adult now. Twenty years, if James was telling the truth. Her captor had to be middle-aged at the least.

Leonard Gerandy looked like anyone—just an older white male. His hairline was receding, and he had a scraggly white beard and moustache. His nose was shiny and pocked with either big pores or old acne scars, and there was a great deal of hair on his arms. He wasn't fat, though he was heavier than he should be—utterly normal for an aging American man. He was...nobody. No one walking down the street would give him a second glance.

"Wisp?" He poked at the phone's screen so it didn't blink off, and was a little surprised to find that his hand was shaking. "Wisp, honey, will you look at me for a second, please?"

Emmett stiffened in his seat, but he didn't stop him. Edward lowered the phone as Wisp obligingly turned her head away from her cookies.

Her eyes caught the photo and her brows drew together as she turned further, resting the side of her head against his knee. Whatever big reaction he expected, this...wasn't it. She looked, one arm sliding around Edward's calf to hug herself close, mouth still chewing her last bite of Oreo. Her eyes flicked back and forth over the photo, her tongue peeking out to lick her lips as she swallowed.

"Do you know him?" Edward asked. "Do you know who he is, sweetheart?"

She exhaled through her nose as the screen went black. Edward drew it back to wake it up again. "Fuck," he muttered. She didn't seem to know the man, though she gave the photo much more attention than he had expected.

"Aaaaaand there goes our lead." Emmett dropped his head against the back of the couch. "Sorry, Ed. We knew it was a longshot."

No. No, Edward wasn't giving up that easily. "This is a recent photo?"

"Yeah, just this past Thanksgiving."

"Ask for an earlier photo. I don't know—ten years ago? Something like that."

Emmett looked skeptical. "People don't change that much. If she doesn't recognize him, she doesn't recognize him."

"Just do it, okay?" Edward looked at the photo again, then gave the phone back. This was their one lead, and he wasn't ready to give up. "People don't change that much to us, but you know her mind doesn't always work like everyone else's. Give her an earlier photo."

"I can ask." Emmett stole a cookie from Wisp's package. "You owe me, though, man. No more being pissy."

"I'm not pissy!"

"You are, and I get that you don't like the whole media thing, but you need to cool it. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry you don't like it. I'm sorry we had to do it. But we gotta find these fuckers."

Edward didn't answer. Emmett had already made his choice, and he didn't want to keep going around in circles about it.

Emmett pocketed his phone. "You know what we need? We need a poker night. We haven't had one since you found your Wispy girl."

"I'm not leaving her for a whole night." Not while her face was out there for anyone to see.

"We can have it here. You'll know she's okay and you can still relax a little." He stood, as if that settled everything. "Friday. I'll tell Jasper and Carlisle."

Edward closed his eyes. He wasn't getting out of this, and he knew it. The warm pressure of Wisp's body against his leg was incredibly comforting. "Do me a favor? Don't tell Mike."

* * *

A/N: I was GOING to leave this on a cliffie because livie79 hurts my feels with her fics, but she hurts them so good!

Today's fic rec: Servatis A Maleficum by hev99. I don't tend to like historical fic, but this one tugs at my heart! There are only two chapters posted, but she's written plenty more. Maybe if enough of us bug her, she'll post? ;-) Hev is my UK Consultant and a wonderful person!


	43. Chapter 43

A/N: Hello, and happy Saturday! This update is for my geeky kitchen ninja, mshavisham79, and callmepagliacci, who's totally moving up to my neck o' the woods in the spring! Will there be mayhem? Oh yes, yes there will.

All standard disclaimers apply

* * *

**Wisp**

The next day, workers came to lay pipe and install the hot tub Carlisle and Esme had given them—but mostly Wisp—for Christmas.

Wisp didn't like this.

She hid from the strange men in their beat-up Carhartt's and boots, burying herself under blankets in her little cave under the kitchen table, shaking with fear. Edward wished he could hold her, but he had to be in and out of the house, answering questions as the men began their task. Carlisle had promised they'd build a roof to go over it later, something like the pergola covering Emmett's tub, though not as elaborate. They didn't have a back deck like his, after all.

A quick call to Esme soothed at least some of his anxiety. She was more than happy to come down to the cabin, crawling into the blanket-fort with Wisp and holding her. Wisp didn't want to be read to, but she turned in Esme's arms and clung to her, and Edward knew he'd done the right thing. "Mother" might be a new concept to his Wisp, but she'd definitely claimed her choice to fill the role.

It wasn't until one of the workers stepped inside the house to use the bathroom, the scent of a newly-smoked cigarette clinging to him, that Wisp completely lost it.

She saw nothing more than his muddy, booted feet; neither Edward nor Esme could say definitively whether it was the strong, acrid smell or that quick glimpse that set her off. A low moan grated from her throat, thick and choked, and she tightened her grasp on Esme to the point of pain. "No!" she gasped. A raw breath heaved her chest. "Nononononononononono!"

Edward quickly pointed the man to the bathroom, then squatted down next to the crack in the sheets where he could just make out Wisp hiding in Esme's arms. "What happened?"

"No!" she insisted before Esme could say anything. "Bad! Bad!"

"Little Wisp, please. Everything is okay, I promise." He reached for her, his arm slipping into the dark little space to touch her socked foot. "Wisp?"

She squealed and jerked away from the unexpected brush of his fingers. "No!"

Fuck, were they back to that? Was she again refusing to let him comfort her?

"Edward, I don't think she realized it was you." Esme sounded breathless as Wisp squeezed her. "Shh, baby, it's okay. You're safe, sweetheart. Look. It's Edward."

"Edward!" She jerked in Esme's arms, and then her tearful face peeped out of its hiding spot. "Edward..."

Wisp released Esme, who looked relieved, and lunged for him.

"No!" She fell into his arms with an awkward lurching motion, and Edward had to brace himself to catch her. His hands slid under her arms, pulling her close, and she buried herself against his body. "Bad!" Her little fingers dug at his skin, her arms trembling with the force she used. An aching sob bubbled from her throat, followed by another.

"I'm gonna take her upstairs." Edward rose, letting her wrap her legs around him, holding her close. Hot, moist breath blew against his neck. "Little Wisp, sweetheart, it's okay. No one's going to hurt you, I promise."

"What do you think—" Esme's question was cut off by the worker exiting the bathroom. Wisp caught a glimpse of him over Edward's shoulder and her cries rose in pitch, a high, shaky wail vibrating through her body.

"Whoa!" The man froze, the smell of cigarette smoke strong in the small room. He backed slowly toward the door. "Sorry—hey! Isn't that the girl that was on the news?"

Edward gritted his teeth as he moved, holding a crying Wisp close as he pushed by the man and headed for the stairs. "Yes," he heard Esme say behind him. "I'm sorry—she's very scared of a lot of things."

Maybe she was. But Edward refused to hold it against her.

"Hey, sweetheart. Come on, it's okay. You're fine." He stepped into his room and shut the door behind them. She burrowed into his arms, refusing to move or loosen her grip. Whatever it was about that man—his look, his smell, or something Edward couldn't even guess, he didn't care at the moment. He slid one hand through her long hair as he took a seat on the bed, urging her out of her hiding place. "Come here. Let me see those eyes."

She resisted for only a moment, giving in to the gentle tug as he tipped her face up. Her wet brown gaze was wary, shifting from him to flit around the room, eying the closed door and the emptiness, only herself and Edward, no strangers.

"No one's here. You're okay." Edward rolled his long sleeve over the heel of his hand and touched it to her cheek, wiping at her tears. "I know. I know you're afraid." The worker himself wasn't the problem, Edward was fairly sure. She hadn't recognized him, she'd recognized something _about_ him. While any meltdown was bad, he truly believed actual recognition of someone from her past would be far, far worse. "I'd love if you could tell me. Can you?" He moved his head, catching her gaze again. "What scared you, little Wisp? What was bad?"

"Bad." She shuddered and pushed against him, as if she wanted to crawl inside of his skin to hide. "Bad."

"Yeah, I got that part. What is it, though?"

"Bad, Edward." A shaky, heaved breath turned into a hiccup. "Bad."

"Okay. Okay, sweetheart." He let her nestle against his shoulder once more, hiding in the curve of his throat. Maybe he'd get a better answer out of her later, after she calmed down. "You know you're safe here with me, right? You know I'd never let anyone hurt you?"

Another hiccup was the only answer.

"There are all sorts of different kinds of people in the world. Some of them hurt, but a lot of us don't. I'd love it if you could understand that. Most of the people you meet, even strangers, won't hurt you. A lot of them would even help if you needed it. That's what people mean when they talk about humanity. A basic...a basic willingness to do something without personal gain. The people who hurt on purpose, the ones who like watching other people suffer—they don't have that humanity inside them. There are countless reasons—genetics, environment—and fuck if I know why the monsters in your past did what they did. All I know is, it's not going to happen anymore. We're going to keep you safe, little Wisp, and give you everything you should have had from the start. Okay?

"Edward?"

"Yeah?" He craned his neck to catch a glimpse of her expression. Her skin, red from screaming, was slowly calming to its normal color.

"My Edward?"

"Yeah." That warm, gooey feeling only she could evoke oozed up inside him again. "I definitely am. I promise."

"Thimble?" Her voice wavered, pleading and soft.

That...was a strange thing to ask for. "Thimble?" Had Alice been at her with a sewing kit or something? "I don't think I have one." Esme might. If a thimble would make her happy, he'd get her one. He'd get her a whole package. Where did one buy thimbles? How many were in a pack?

"Thimble." Wet brown eyes stared at him in entreaty. She frowned, then lifted her head and placed her lips against the line of his jaw. "Thimble."

She smelled like the cinnamon toast she'd had for breakfast, sweet and mellow, and she nuzzled his cheek gently with her nose. Edward turned his head, brows drawn together slightly. "Kiss," he said, attempting to mimic the slow tone Emily had used to introduce new words yesterday. "That's a kiss, sweetheart, not a thimble." He pecked the tip of her nose. "Kiss."

"Thimble." She pointed to her cheek.

Edward chuckled, but he tipped her chin up slightly and kissed where she requested. "I'm gonna have to ask Rose about that one, I suspect." No one else spent an appreciable amount of time alone with her, not even Esme. "Are you feeling better now? Not so scared?"

"My Edward."

Not quite the answer he was hoping for, but it was better than screaming. "Come here, pretty girl." He tucked her close and felt the deep sigh that flowed from her body as she returned her head to his shoulder.

"Good Edward," she murmured.

"I'm glad you think so. You know, you're the sweetest girl I've ever met, of any age."

Her nose nuzzled the side of his neck as he heard footsteps approaching the bedroom door.

There was a soft knock, then Esme poked her head in. "Everything okay now?"

"I think so." He rubbed Wisp's back slowly. "She won't say what scared her about him, but she's calmer."

"I think it was the cigarette smell. We really couldn't see anything from under the table." Esme stepped further into the room and closed the door behind her. "I opened the windows to air everything out, and I told people to use the restroom up at our house if they need to. They seemed to accept the explanation that we had someone with special needs in the cabin."

Edward didn't really care what they thought, as long as they left Wisp alone. She didn't usually react quite so badly to strangers, but that didn't mean she liked them.

"Do you want to try taking her back downstairs?"

He shook his head. "Not now. I want to make sure she's completely calm first."

"Do you want some grilled cheese and soup for lunch?"

Edward smiled. "I think she'd like that."

* * *

What she didn't like, however, was going back into the bathroom that night.

"No!" she said, clamping her hand down around her nose as Edward carried her in.

"Honey, it doesn't smell bad, I promise." He took a deep breath. No, there were no lingering traces of smoke. Esme had aired everything out well, and besides, the man had only been in the house for a few minutes. "Just try. I promise, it's okay."

When he set her down on the bathmat so he could turn on the taps, she made to crawl out of the room. It was the first time he'd ever seen her refuse a bath.

"Wisp." He tugged at his hair. "Come on. It doesn't smell like smoke."

She refused to respond, crawling from the bathroom and into the hallway. Edward followed her, letting the water run. Wisp moved to the kitchen, where Esme had left a bottle of Febreze on the counter after airing out the cabin. Inspired, Edward picked up the spritz bottle and knelt down.

"Look, little Wisp. I'm going to give you this, okay? You can get rid of that smell." He put his finger on the trigger, careful not to point the bottle at her, and gave a quick tug.

"Oh!" She flinched away from the resulting mist, but as soon as the clean smell hit her nose, she brightened.

"See? It'll be okay, I promise." Edward gave her the bottle and pulled her into his arms. "Come on. I swear it smells fine, but you can spray all you want."

Once she saw where they were headed, she did. Edward's eyes watered a little even though the smell wasn't as cloying or strong as a lot of other air fresheners. He set her down and watched as she crawled into each corner of the bathroom, even opening the cupboard under the sink to spray inside. As a precaution from whatever chemicals were in that bottle, he flipped on the bathroom fan.

When she decided finally that the air smelled clean enough, Wisp offered him the bottle. "Good." She sounded very satisfied with herself.

"Good," Edward agreed. "Will you take your bath now?"

She pulled off her socks and shirt as Edward turned off the water, and he watched as she finished undressing and crawled awkwardly over the rim of the tub, sliding into the water. Though she'd never slipped—so far—it always worried him until she settled in, melting into the water and sinking chin-deep.

"I'm glad you like baths," he said, lathering a washcloth and offering it to her. She obediently began washing, starting with her toes, though she did her best to keep as much of her body submerged at a time as possible. "It's one thing you don't have in common with your cat." She was also much better than Pet at taking meds. He'd finally given up trying to give the cat pain medication. She wouldn't eat her food if it was mixed in, and when he tried poking pills down her throat like the vet suggested, he just got bit for his trouble. "Hey, do you think we could talk a little bit about what happened earlier?" Her fear of the smell of smoke lingering in the bathroom gave him a pretty clear picture of what she'd been afraid of, but he wished she could tell him directly.

"Ow." Wisp held out her arm, an angry little red scratch near her wrist, courtesy of a too-rambunctious Pet. Edward kissed it, which was what she'd wanted. "Good Edward." She switched hands holding the washcloth and moved to scrub her knees. "Good Pet. Pet sorry."

"Yeah, I know. She doesn't mean to hurt you, she just gets carried away sometimes when you're playing." Edward gave up on asking her questions. He didn't know how to word them using her very limited vocabulary. "I wish I had a way into your head." He held her hair up so she could scrub her shoulders and back. "But not in a creepy Being-John-Malcovich sort of way. I just...I'd love to know what the world looks like to you."

The slosh of water against warm skin was his only answer.

* * *

That night, Wisp had her first nightmare since being sick. Edward had sort of hoped they'd magically gone away or something, but when he woke up to the low, keening sound of Wisp's cries and a rigid little body on top of him, he knew better.

"Wisp," he said softly, digging at his eyes with one hand while pressing her close with the other. "Wake up. Wake up, sweetheart. It's not real."

She whimpered into his chest as he sat them up, leaning against his headboard. It had been a while since they'd done this, the thick silence of the night pressing in on them, Wisp's rigid little body trembling as she cried. Assuming that they'd never do it again, though, was stupid. Edward knew that. Recurring nightmares didn't just go away on their own.

Did they?

He exhaled as he tipped Wisp's head toward him , dipping his other hand in the glass of water by the bed and flicking the cold drops at her face. She squealed, flinched, and woke with a jolt.

"Hey. Shh, sweetheart, you're fine. Whatever you dream about, it doesn't happen here."

She caught her breath in several heaving gasps, wide-eyed, her face shadowed to him in the dark night. "Edward?"

It was a plea, a cry for help, and he ached to answer it. She usually did not talk after a nightmare—whether that made this moment significant or not, he couldn't really say.

"I'm right here," he promised. "Right here with you, sweet girl."

"Edward?"

Whatever she was begging for, he didn't know and couldn't guess. If she wanted reassurance, he was doing his best to give it to her. If she wanted to stay in his lap, he wasn't fighting her. He held her close, hugging her little body against him, wishing he knew exactly what he could do to fix this. "You're safe," he murmured into her hair. "You're here with me."

"Edward?" Her thin arms wound around his shoulders, and she hugged him as tightly as she could. "Edward?"

"I'm here. I'm right here."

Her hands gripped fistfuls of his t-shirt, and for a very long time she didn't move. Edward didn't make her. Until she could express otherwise, he'd do what she always seemed to want him to do—hold her and reassure her with soft words and touches. Affection was what she craved the most—from him, from Rosalie, from Esme—and he never wanted her to feel like it wasn't freely given. They had more than enough for her—more than she could comprehend.

"Edward?" Her nose brushed the skin of his throat, and he felt her inhale deeply, breathing in the smell of him. Her hands tightened and relaxed their grip on him, almost like a kneading kitten.

"I'm here," he promised. "I'm here. Sweet little thing, where would I go?"

She moved her head, her lips following her nose, kissing where she'd nuzzled him. "Edward?"

"Whatever you want." He dropped his mouth to speak against her hair. "Whatever you want, it's yours."

* * *

Neither of them went back to sleep, the workers returned to continue installing the hot tub and building a roof overhead, and by the time Emily knocked on the front door, both Edward and Wisp were sleep-deprived and cranky. She wouldn't nap, barely picked at her food, and refused to move from Edward's lap for longer than it took to use the bathroom. Edward wasn't upset with her, but he hated the situation. The sounds of construction from the back yard weren't helping.

"It's open!" he called when Emily knocked. Getting up was difficult with a full-grown girl refusing to let go of him.

Emily stepped inside, and one black eyebrow quirked when she saw Wisp huddled in Edward's arms.

"You saw her on a good day last time."

"This is a bad day?" Emily sat on the couch, but not too close. Edward appreciated that.

"This is the day after a nightmare." One shoulder hitched in approximation of a shrug. "She doesn't want to do anything except sit with me, and she won't sleep until she can't fight it anymore."

"Hello, Wisp," Emily tried. "How are you doing today?"

Wisp eyed her, but remained silent.

"She doesn't talk after a nightmare." Edward didn't mention the way she'd begged in his arms upon waking. She hadn't said anything since, so it didn't seem all that important.

Emily waited, but Wisp did not speak. Edward wanted to say he told her so, but he refrained. That was his own lack of sleep and crankiness, not Emily's fault.

"Maybe you'd like to draw, or paint, instead?" Emily offered paper and a case of watercolors from inside her messenger bag. Wisp looked at the supplies for a long moment, then buried her face against Edward's shoulder again.

"Sorry." Edward managed a lopsided smile. "I'd love if you could help her when she's like this, but I don't think paint is gonna do it."

"Well, you and I can talk for a while, then," Emily said. "We'll see if she gets more comfortable after a while."

Edward doubted it, but he kept his mouth shut. She was the professional here.

"I spent most of yesterday and this morning going through our first official session and coming up with recommendations to start. I don't want to push her too hard at first. The goal isn't to alienate her, but to get her used to a new routine."

"Sounds good." Edward was adamant that, whatever happened, they weren't going to scare her. That would be counterproductive, to his mind. "What sorts of things are you thinking about?"

"There are some fairly big changes that need to be made, and I think you'll agree with me, even if you don't particularly like them. Also some smaller things that can be worked into her day to help her learn and grow."

"What sort of big changes?" Edward asked warily.

Emily's honest eyes looked right at him. "She needs to be in her own room, Edward."

He blanched.

Yeah, he knew—had known from the beginning. But she was terrified to sleep alone, and she wouldn't use a bed without him between her and it. It was too much, too big a fight, and he hadn't chosen to tackle it on his own. Plus, what about the nightmares? What would happen if she had one and he wasn't there? He was a pretty heavy sleeper, most of the time. Would he even be able to hear her from across the hall, two closed doors between them?

"I know. I know. I can see by your face that you don't like it. But you do understand, don't you?"

Edward nodded. Yeah, he did. "When we were sick, Esme put her next to my bed on an air mattress. What about something like that?" It was a compromise, right? Something in between?

"It's better than nothing," Emily said, "but she needs her own space. It's not just about the bed, though you know as well as I do that it's inappropriate for her to keep sleeping in yours. I understand that you don't touch her sexually, and you never would. But it won't look good if a judge ever gets involved, and it's not fair to her. She needs to learn what society says is appropriate, so she can internalize and adapt. A young woman doesn't sleep with a man she's not romantically or sexually attached to. She needs to learn this. You're her caregiver, not her boyfriend."

"I know that." It came out maybe a little more harsh than he meant, but fuck, this was a sore subject for him. "Physically she might be twenty or whatever, but mentally she's just a baby. I'm not some sick fuck—I don't _want_ to touch her like that!"

"No one's suggesting that you do." Emily remained calm. "Not here, anyway. Not me, or her social worker, or any of your friends and family. But remember those boundaries we talked about last time? This is one of them—an important one. She doesn't need lengthy explanations right now, but she needs to know that sleeping in your bed is no longer okay."

"And when she cries? When she comes to the door, or kneels by the bed, and cries?"

"Then you give her a hug and put her back in her own room. It may take a few times, but she's intelligent. I think she'll learn quickly."

Edward truly, honestly didn't know if he was capable of that—capable of pushing her away when all she wanted was the reassurance of his touch. His jaw tightened, one thumb stroking the soft fleece of her shirt.

"The key is to make sure her room isn't a place of punishment," Emily went on. "She's taken to that little fort under the table, and that's good. It shows that she understands your arms aren't the only place she can find safety, though I understand you're still the first place she turns most of the time. If we make her room a good place, somewhere she wants to be, the transition will be a lot easier."

Edward still wasn't sure. The rational part of him knew Emily was right and Wisp needed her own space, but the other part of him understood that her meltdowns were something he couldn't ignore. Especially not when she was crying for _him_. "What do you suggest?"

"Get your friends and family involved. Make it an event, a happy thing. Clear out the room and do a little redesign—maybe paint it her favorite color. Pack it full of her things. _Her_ books. _Her_ paintings. Let her make choices about what she wants and where she wants it. Make it a gift for her. I'm not saying it will make the transition completely painless, but it will help. If she won't sleep on the bed by herself just yet, an air mattress or something similar is fine. As long as she knows that that's _her_ space. It's where she needs to be at night, and where she's free to be during the day if she wants."

Edward didn't like it, but he was big enough to admit that he'd seen this coming. It needed to happen. As much as he now found it soothing to feel her gentle weight on top of him at night, she needed this. They both did. He hugged her close. "Okay," he said finally. "When?"

"As soon as possible. I know you can't get something like that together in a day, and that's okay, but I don't want it to turn into an excuse. Does a week sound reasonable?"

Yeah. Considering how eager Esme and Alice would be, a week sounded more than reasonable. They'd love getting Wisp's room ready for her. He nodded.

"Good. Thank you, Edward. I know this isn't easy for you. We can move on to something less stressful, if you like?"

"Please." The warm weight of the girl in his arms eased his nerves, but he was done talking about this. If it needed to be done, it needed to be done. Talking it to death wouldn't change that.

"I'd like to work on her autonomy in some other areas. You said she's working toward bathing and dressing herself, and that's great. Food is something I'd like to try now, too. You said she eats what you put in front of her, when it's offered. She doesn't ask for it, is that correct?"

"Yeah. She's started to ask for more every now and then, but she doesn't ask to eat." Edward suddenly wondered if he'd been doing this wrong all along. Did she feel too afraid to ask for food if she was hungry? Did she not even consider it an option?

"I'd like you to put a container—a basket or a plastic bin—in one of the lower cupboards, where she can reach it, and fill it with ready-to-eat foods that she can take whenever she wants. Single-serve packages of crackers, fruit snacks, granola bars, that kind of stuff. Even some fruit is okay as long as you check often to make sure it doesn't spoil. I'd like her to be able to choose her snacks—what she eats and when she eats it. I realize meals are more difficult. Cooking with her is a great way to get her involved, and you mentioned that you and Esme began to do that recently."

"Yeah, that's a great idea." Edward felt a lot better. Wisp couldn't climb up on the countertop to rifle through the upper cupboards on her own, so it made sense to put a container of snacks where she could easily reach. For the first time that afternoon, he felt a real smile tug at the corners of his mouth. She'd love it. And maybe, just maybe, it would take some of the sting out of her move across the hall.

* * *

A/N: No, we haven't forgotten about Dr. Gerandy and the police search, I promise! Mwah! Love you, duckies! Oh, also, go vote for the best 90's Twific here: u/4333674/SLMR90sTwiFicContest I'm not allowed to say which one might or might not be mine. *zips lips* ;-)


	44. Chapter 44

A/N: Ohai, duckies! Sorry it's been a little while - I got sick. :( But, on the upside, while I was gone, Pet decided she was going to take over. You can find her at wispspet dot wordpress dot com. Once again, this is NOT me, just like Pet's Twitter account, but I think it's adorable.

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

"Monkey. Monkey, Edward."

For the umpteenth time, Edward inspected the cookie in Wisp's hand. "Yep, that's a monkey, all right." He offered her his arms, and she stuck her animal cracker in her mouth before allowing herself to be picked up. "We need to get you off the carpet so we can tape down some plastic, okay?" She smelled like the sweet animal cookies Alice had been plying her with for days now, equating photos of animals in books with the treats. It wasn't the most pertinent education, but Edward kept his mouth shut. She liked it, and it kept her busy while he and Jasper emptied her room. Most things went into his bedroom for the moment—the little daybed, the piles of art supplies, the dresser and drawers—and he sincerely hoped they could at least get the walls painted today. Otherwise he and Wisp were going to have a hard time reaching his bed tonight.

Getting Wisp to decide on a color for the walls was difficult. She insisted that her favorite color was green, but she kept picking swatches too dark and deep to be good wall colors. It would make the little room feel even smaller than it was, creating an oppressive atmosphere. Edward was of the opinion that if Wisp wanted a jungle-green room, there was nothing so wrong with that, but both Esme and Alice said otherwise. She wouldn't like it once she saw the whole room painted such a deep emerald, they said, and dark colors were hard to paint over, which meant that letting Wisp see for herself was out of the question.

Emmett, upon hearing the controversy, said not to worry—he had a plan that Wisp would love. Edward was supposed to call him as soon as the room was ready for paint. He was a little worried about what Emmett might have in store, but he also didn't have any better ideas.

"Alice!" Edward called. "We're taping off the room—will you come up here, please?"

"Come here, Wisp!" Alice darted up the stairs. "What do you have there?"

"Lion!" Wisp showed her another cookie from her little circus-train box.

"Come downstairs with Esme and me. We're gonna paint your nails while the boys put some plastic on the floor, okay?"

Edward set Wisp on the floor, and she willingly followed Alice down the stairs, holding her box of cookies in one hand as she crawled. Alice was so tiny that Edward was glad she never tried to carry her, even piggyback as Rose often did now.

"What do you think Emmett has in mind?" Jasper asked as they rolled out sheets of thin plastic to protect the carpet, taping it down with blue painter's tape along the molding.

"No clue. He was just adamant that Rosalie wasn't going to be part of it. Said he didn't know whether paint fumes were bad for the baby or not, but he wasn't going to chance it."

Jasper chuckled. "He could have asked."

"I don't know how she hasn't strung him up by his balls yet for all his worrying." Edward snorted. "Then again, maybe she has." He was still a little pissed at Em, honestly, though he was doing his best not to show it. Emmett had a job to do. That job required him to do what was necessary to find the men who had hurt Wisp. He understood. Intellectually, at least.

"Pretty!" he heard Wisp squeal from downstairs, then a high-pitched giggle from Alice. The corners of Jasper's mouth quirked in a soft smile.

"Wisp loves her." Edward tore a length of tape and tossed the rest to Jasper. "I think she sees Alice as the most...I don't know, accessible, maybe? The most like a friend." She loved Esme and Rose, but there was still an invisible line of authority she clearly drew between them. Esme was "mother"—a figure of comfort, yes, but not a peer. Rose played a similar role. But while Alice brought presents and taught her new things, she never treated Wisp like a child. A doll maybe at times, Edward thought with an inward roll of his eyes. But not a child.

"How are things going with Emily?"

Edward shrugged. "Too soon to tell, I think. Her recommendations sound good—responsible and whatever. I just don't know whether Wisp will react like she expects. _I_ can't even predict what she'll do half the time. Emily says she may put up a fuss about moving into her own room at first, but it shouldn't last."

"And you're not so sure?"

"Nope." Edward ran his hands along the molding, securing the plastic to the wall. "Don't get me wrong—I understand why it needs to happen. But I don't...it's hard to explain. I don't want to call her stubborn, because she's not. She doesn't have the strength of character to be stubborn. But when she really cares about something, like Pet—you know what happened when her cat got lost."

"And you think she'll see moving into her own room as a loss?"

Edward considered. It was a good question, and one he didn't have an answer to. To him, it _was_ something of a loss, and he was self-aware enough to be able to admit it. He'd grown to like the comfort of having her right there while he slept, a warm weight anchoring his normally restless body. If something happened—a nightmare, for instance—he felt her discomfort physically, and woke. Across the hall, he couldn't do that for her. So yes, it _was_ a loss for him, but one he was more than willing to accept for the sake of Wisp's continued growth.

The question was, how would she see it?

After the room was emptied, walls washed, and floor protected, they called Emmett. He told them to take a coffee break and he'd be there in twenty.

"Edward! Edward, pretty!" Wisp proudly showed him her fingernails, which had been painted a dark pine green with some sort of silver sparkly stuff in it.

"She didn't want to take her socks off to get her toes done," Alice said with a little shake of her head. "But we gave you a mani at least, huh?" Alice held out her own hands next to Wisp's, showing off a glossy burgundy polish.

"Mani," Wisp agreed, wiggling her fingers to make the sparkles glint. "Pretty."

"You know we're just going to get messy painting, right?"

Alice made a face. "You don't know that! Maybe Emmett has a plan that doesn't involve a big mess."

Edward doubted it. Messes and Emmett went together like...like messes and Emmett.

* * *

Emmett's plan became clear when he walked in, followed by Garrett.

"Hello again, missy!" the old man said, smiling as he passed off a plastic milk crate full of little quarter-gallon cans of paint to Jasper. Emmett carried two more. "I haven't seen you in a while. Do you remember me?"

Wisp's eyes lit with recognition, and when Garrett offered his hand she extended hers, letting her fingers brush against his. She had no idea what a handshake was, but she was getting better about touch, even with Carlisle, which relieved Edward.

"I hear we're getting a room ready for you, huh?"

"I'm not sure she really understands yet," Edward said.

Emmett's broad smile exposed his deep dimples. "She will soon." He clapped Edward on the shoulder. "They've got this, man. Come on—you and me are going to the gym."

Wisp usually did not accept being left alone with anyone except Edward or Rose, but she had apparently added someone currently in the room—likely Esme—to her "safe" list, for she made no protest when he kissed her forehead and told her he was leaving. She was far more interested in the cans of paint, which Esme was prying the lids off of with a flathead screwdriver, and Garrett as he dug out a pencil and began to sketch on the clean white wall.

"Get used to it," Emmett snickered as Edward grabbed some gym clothes from his room and stuffed them in a bag. "Right now, Garrett's _way_ more exciting than you."

"Fuck off." Edward flipped him the bird.

"Oh, I feel for you, man. I mean, I'm gonna have to deal with it too, you know? When my kid gets here, he's gonna be way more interested in Rosie's boobs than anything else, I figure."

Edward snorted. Rose _did_ have a nice rack. Purely objectively speaking, of course. But then, so had his most recent ex, Tanya. Even though Tanya was a pale strawberry blond, her nipples were startlingly dark—a kind of creamy brown mocha. Nothing like Wisp's nearly-flat little skim-milk chest and carnation-pink nipples.

Not that he was saying anything about Wisp's chest. Or thinking about it. Not at all. He squirmed inwardly the minute the thought entered his mind. No. He didn't think about his ward that way. Just, for comparison's sake...

Yeah, Emmett was right. He had some tension he needed to work out. A _lot_ of tension.

* * *

When they returned several hours later, the smell of paint was thick in the air. Edward poked his head in the bedroom to find Esme holding Wisp's DVD player up so the girl could study it closely as she knelt, a paintbrush in her hand. On the screen was a paused image of Neverland from her Peter Pan DVD.

The project had progressed quickly with both Wisp and Garrett working. Garrett drew with his pencil, and it looked like Wisp was following him with paint. She had some disposable plastic cups in which she'd mixed specific tints. "Edward!" she said happily, pointing with a messy hand. "Neverland!"

"I see that." Edward had to smile despite the heavy paint smell in the room. They still had a long way to go, but the plan was clear. Garrett sketched light pencil outlines of trees and vines on the walls, Wisp adding color and depth, turning the room into a vibrant re-creation of Neverland. Garrett was helping to give Wisp her own little paradise, her special Neverland, and he couldn't be more pleased by the idea, whether it had been Emmett's or the artist's. Jasper was busy painting a soft blue sky on the ceiling, Alice fretting about the flecks and drips of sky-blue paint in his pale hair. Wisp and Garrett had made amazing progress, but Edward could see that this wasn't a one-day project.

In fact, it took almost three days to finish the room, by the end of which Wisp had a sanctuary to rival fucking Disneyland, to Edward's mind. Together, Wisp and Garrett had painted the walls—just like Wisp had originally wanted—in varying shades of deep, jungly green, with small bursts of gold and violet, splashes of red and blue. They painted the Lost Boys' hollow tree hideaway around Wisp's closet, and had even gone so far as to paint images from inside the hideout _in_ the closet. Palm trees, ferns, and vines decorated the walls, a dense, lush riot of green interspersed with shades of brown. Alice painted the iron bed frame green and attached shimmery green fabric leaves she'd cut and sewed herself, making even the bed look like it was made of vines. She and Esme went all the way to Seattle to look for new bedding that would match the room, returning with rich brown Egyptian cotton sheets and a green microfiber down comforter that Wisp instantly fell in love with, wrapping the snuggly material around herself until she was like a little green burrito with her brown hair peeking from the end.

They sanded and re-stained her dresser a rich shade of glossy brown, and Emmett and Jasper built her a tall bookshelf of the same color. The afternoon they moved it in and secured it to the wall for safety, Wisp spent hours with her piles of books and art supplies and DVDs, trying to decide how to arrange it all. "Mine," she said proudly when Edward checked on her. The sparkle in her deep eyes was wonderfully bright.

Alice and Esme strung strands of tiny, soft white lights in zigzag patterns across the ceiling, and at night the room looked almost haunting, the dim light making the colors on the wall glow richly. While there'd been fear that so much dark color would make the small room oppressive, it didn't. The end result was rich and warm and, most importantly, Wisp loved it.

Alice wanted to create a new take on the blanket-fort for Wisp, stating that the old one made from whatever bedsheets Rose had found in the linen closet would disrupt the "flow" of the room. Esme agreed with the sentiment but she and Edward talked her out of it, hoping that moving the materials Wisp was already used to would help her feel more comfortable when they tried to officially move her into her new room. With the kitchen table and an air mattress crammed into the room along with the other furniture it was definitely cramped, but Edward didn't care. Anything to make her feel better and to ease the difficulty of this transition. She adored the new room, but she had no idea that, tonight, she was expected to sleep in it.

"Do you want me to stay, Edward?" Esme asked as the evening lengthened. They'd had a little celebration dinner to mark the completion of the new room, and Wisp had even offered Garrett a hug when he left. He declared that it was the best thank-you he'd ever received, and Edward swore he saw a wet sheen in the old man's eyes before Emmett and Rose drove him home. Wisp tended to have that effect on people. Her affection, once earned, felt like a gift. A treasure.

Now everyone except Esme was gone—Carlisle was still out of town—and Wisp was upstairs in her new room, giving Pet her daily brushing. In another week they'd be able to take her back to Dr. Banner to remove her cast, something Edward wasn't sure he was looking forward to. Did he take Wisp? Did he leave her home and try to distract her from noticing her cat was missing?

Right now, his more pressing problem was transitioning Wisp into her new room as gently as possible. He considered Esme's offer, but finally declined. "I'm going to read her to sleep in there, I think, and see how long it lasts." He didn't really expect her to sleep through the whole night. Unless she was in his arms, she just didn't do that.

"Well, I'm just a phone call away if you need anything."

Edward kissed his aunt as she left. He suspected she wouldn't get much sleep tonight either, worrying about Wisp, and fully expected calls tomorrow from Rose and Jasper inquiring about how everything went. At least Emily would be there the next afternoon to help mitigate whatever disaster might occur.

Once he and Wisp were alone in the little cabin, he turned to the kitchen and cut both of them another slice of the chocolate cake Esme baked for the occasion, carrying the bowls upstairs to her new room. They'd done their best to air out the new-paint smell, and Wisp had even attacked the room with her Febreze bottle, and he smelled very little as he set the cake down. "Hey, little Wisp. I bet you won't say no to a second helping of dessert."

Nor did she. She scrambled out of her blanket-fort as he settled down with his back against the side of the unused bed, and she grabbed up a bowl. "Um!" she said, smiling broadly as she reached for her spoon.

They were in the middle of reading _The Little Prince_, and Edward pulled the book from the shelf as Wisp curled near him on the carpet, spoon already in her mouth. "Do you want to read for a while?" he asked, though the answer was always, always yes. She never got tired of hearing the voice of someone she loved read from a book as she looked on, her eyes tracing over the page though the letters made no sense to her.

"Read," she agreed with a mouthful of cake.

"I think we left off at the chapter with the fox, right?" Edward leafed through the book until he found the right page, cleared his throat, and started to read. In this chapter, the little prince met a fox, and asked it what "tame" meant.

_ "It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. "It means to establish ties."_

_"'To establish ties'?"_

_"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world..."_

Wisp finished her cake and set the bowl down, edging closer to Edward and resting her head against his arm as he held the book open in his lap so she could see.

_ "My life is very monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the colour of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat..."_

Edward watched the girl leaning on him. She had no idea that tonight a key part of her routine, her life, was about to change. What would she think? What would she do? Would she understand that he still loved her, that nothing had changed in that regard? The last thing he wanted her to feel was rejection. Not from him. Her psyche was so fragile; he didn't know if she could handle something like that.

_ So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near—_

_"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."_

_"It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you..."_

_"Yes, that is so," said the fox._

_"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince._

_"Yes, that is so," said the fox._

_"Then it has done you no good at all!"_

_"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields."_

Wisp's eyes were heavy, lashes fluttering against her upper cheeks as she struggled to stay awake for the full chapter.

_ "Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose."_

_"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember._

* * *

For the first time in a long time, Edward went to bed alone. Wisp was tucked up, warm and safe, on her air mattress across the hall, Pet a little black ball purring at her feet. He flipped on his reading light and grabbed a book, but the academic jargon felt formal and stilted in his head after reading classic children's literature to Wisp. He read the same sentence over and over again, processing nothing, watching the minutes, then hours, tick by on his alarm clock. How long would it take before she woke? Before she realized that it was nighttime, and she was alone?

His answer came at two in the morning, when he woke from a light doze to the feeling of a warm body settling over him. She smelled like warm skin and still, faintly, like chocolate, and he inhaled a deep, slow breath as his arms automatically moved around her. This was it. This was what he'd been dreading.

She snuggled into him sweetly, cheek to his chest, as if she'd merely fallen asleep in the wrong place and was now correcting the error. Edward stole a moment to hug her, apologizing silently for what he was about to do.

Bracing himself for her reaction, he sat up, gathered her in his arms, and stood. In the light of his dim reading lamp, her sleepy eyes blinked at him, sleep-tousled hair falling around her face. "Sleep?" she questioned. "Sleep, Edward?"

God, this was going to kill him. "Yeah, honey. Sleep, but not here. I'm sorry, but you need to sleep in your own room now."

She was silent as he carried her across the hall and back to her room, where the clear little lights twinkled like stars on the ceiling. He put her back on the air mattress, Pet whining a soft complaint as she was jostled in her sleep.

"You sleep here," Edward said, patting the mattress. They'd left the blanket-fort open on this side, where the mattress stuck out, so he didn't have to intrude on her special space to put her back in bed. "I know it's a change, but you like your new room, right?"

Wisp's sleepy face drew up in a scowl of confusion. "Sleep," she said, raising her arms to him. "Sleep, Edward."

"Yes, little Wisp. You sleep here now." He offered her her little teddy bear, but she shoved it aside and refused to drop her arms.

Edward closed his eyes for a long moment. He'd known this was going to be hard, but that didn't prepare him for the way his gut rolled and dropped, his chest tightening painfully. Wisp had to be in her own room. Emily said so. Scott said so. He understood, he did. But fuck, what was he supposed to do with that earnest little face staring up at him, confused and increasingly anxious as the moments ticked by and he refused her request to pick her up?

"Edward? Good Edward?"

"Fuck, sweetheart. You're killing me, you know that?" He knelt down and pressed his lips to her forehead for a long moment. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you, little Wisp."

Then he rose, turned, and walked out of the room.

She followed on her knees right behind him.

He couldn't bring himself to look at her face this time when he picked her up and put her back in her room.

"Edward!"

Though he couldn't see her, he could feel the frightened beat of her pulse and hear the confusion in her voice. She was not happy about this at all. She clung to him with her little fists when he tried to put her down, and Edward didn't have it in him to physically pry her fingers from his shirt. Finally he raised his shoulders and removed the garment, leaving her holding handfuls of empty fabric. She could keep the thing, as long as she didn't follow him.

"No!" she squealed, scrambling from her mattress, flinging the shirt aside as he stepped toward the door. "No, Edward!"

"Yes, little Wisp. I'm sorry, honey, but this is where you sleep now." His voice sounded strange in his ears; tight, tense. How many times did Emily expect him to put her back where she obviously didn't want to be? He really didn't think he could do this all night, especially if she started crying.

So this time, when she followed him, Edward stopped in his doorway. He turned around, facing the girl on her knees before him, staring up with huge, terrified eyes. "Mine," he said, slow and deliberate, pointing to the room behind him. "Mine, okay? Edward's room." Once more he picked her up, the fleece of her shirt making him shiver as it brushed his bare chest. "Yours. Wisp's." He put her down on her mattress. "Wisp's room. You stay here."

She burst into tears.

Not knowing what else to do, he got his phone and called Emily. This was her idea. If he had to be awake at two in the morning while Wisp ripped his heart to pieces, she did, too.

When she answered, he pointed the phone at Wisp for a long moment before raising it near his ear. "Well?"

"Let her cry, Edward. I know it sounds cruel, but it's necessary. Like a mother weaning a baby or a scared child starting preschool, this has to happen. Otherwise she'll never grow."

"I don't know that I can do that." Edward stood in the doorway, watching Wisp's heaving sobs as she curled into herself on her air mattress. Pet had escaped to the unused bed, watching her distraught human warily.

"Don't stew. Get some earplugs. Try to read or listen to music. Call Esme to watch her while you go for a drive, if you need to. She'll calm down eventually."

"And if she doesn't?"

"She will."

"But if not?"

Emily remained far more patient with him than even Edward felt he deserved. "I know it hurts. I do. But your relationship is strong—she knows you love her. This is a big, scary step for both of you, and I promise it's worth it. Call Esme, Edward. Go for a drive, or go up to her house for a while. You'll feel better if you don't fixate on how uncomfortable this feels for you, I promise."

So Edward did.

And, in a way, Emily was right. When he returned, Wisp was quiet. Not asleep, but quiet.

In the morning, after he gave up on even trying to sleep, Edward opened his door, a little surprised that he hadn't heard Wisp thump down the stairs to feed her cat. He peered into her new room.

Yes, she was there, sitting on the carpet, squeezed into the corner by her bookcase. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, her thumb in her mouth, and she refused to look up when he called her name.

* * *

A/N: _The Little Prince_ by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry is not yet in the public domain by American copyright standards. All quoted material, therefore, falls under his copyright.

It's gonna get a little bumpy next chapter, duckies, just a warning! Mwah! Love you!


	45. Chapter 45

A/N: Happy Monday! In less than a week, CallMePagliacci is going to be here with me IRL, so prepare for mayhem!

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

"The thumb sucking?"

"That's new." Edward stood in the doorway of Wisp's room, body rigid, muscles tense. All he really wanted to do was pick his girl up, let her nestle into his arms, and rock her as he apologized over and over again. This was too much, too soon. Wisp wasn't reacting as Emily had hoped: some complaint, a few tears, and then acceptance. No, this was some sort of shutdown. She refused to talk to him and refused to leave the room—when he offered his arms to take her downstairs, she just tucked herself further into a ball and did not move. "I really don't think this is working."

Emily nodded slowly. "It's hard to say. I'd like to keep trying. Not only does she need to be out of your bed, but if we go back and forth, she's going to be even more confused and less sure of her boundaries." She looked at him, then at the girl still tucked in the corner of her new room. "Cold turkey is generally considered best for young children in similar situations, and I'm still an advocate of the method."

"But Wisp isn't a child."

"No," Emily agreed, "she's not."

"Even though she can't communicate on an adult level yet, her brain isn't a child's brain." He frowned. "I don't think. It's so hard to be sure, you know? What she thinks. _How_ she thinks. But what she feels is perfectly clear, and I don't like it right now."

"I agree with you that nobody really knows anything about her thought processes, or how much they might change as her experiences expand and she starts to learn. I really think a lot of it depends on just how old she was when she lost her language."

"Right." That much Edward could understand. They were on the edge of his discipline and Emily's here, where biology, psychology, and sociology converged into a muddy soup of unknowns. "She _had_ language at some point. We know that. Some of the words in her vocabulary are spontaneous—I mean, we haven't actively taught them to her. And she understands what language _is_. She knows its function. When we talk, she knows we're communicating. When we read, she understands that the letters in the books equate to words. She knew language at some point."

"I agree." Emily smiled as Pet slunk past them into Wisp's room. She curled on her side on top of the girl's socked feet and lifted a paw to wash. "She had language, and I suspect she had it until early grade-school age at least. Between ages four and five is when the window of first-language acquisition tends to close. I think she was beyond that."

"But she's not to a point where we can explain what we're doing, or why." That was Edward's biggest problem with the whole mess. Wisp had no idea why she was suddenly kicked out of his bed, out of his room. There was no real way to explain and even if there were, he doubted she'd care about something like propriety.

"You can't explain it to a baby, either."

Right.

Edward stared into Wisp's room. He'd pulled the gauzy green curtains aside, letting natural daylight spill in, and Wisp looked washed-out and sickly in the dim overcast. "How long?" he asked finally. "How long do you want to keep this up, if she doesn't accept it?" He wanted to like Emily, he really did. He _needed_ someone with more experience than he had, someone who could guide him. But it made him sick to hear Wisp cry, especially when he knew he'd caused her tears, and the emptiness in her eyes was even worse. He might be able to stand it for another night or two—maybe. More than that? He doubted it.

Emily sucked in a slow breath, mouth pursing slightly as she considered her response. Edward did his best to have patience. She was more knowledgeable than him, yes, but that didn't mean she had all the answers. Wisp was a unique case. Some of what they tried had to, statistically, end in error. That was just the nature of their dilemma. But errors that made her regress? _That_ he couldn't tolerate.

"I can't make you do anything," Emily said finally. "I can offer plans and advice, but I can't force you to follow them. I don't know her as well as you do. Tell me, Edward, what _you_ think the answer is?" Her direct, unblinking eye contact was a little unnerving. "What would you say?"

His hand made a grab for his hair, tugging hard as he rocked his head back into the wall behind him with a low thud. "I don't know," he groaned. "My head says you're right—she needs independence. But my instinct is to comfort her. I mean, she's not a baby. I don't know everything that's happened to her, but I know she can't have very many good memories of her former life. I just...I don't want to make more bad ones than we absolutely have to."

"Well, I can't tell you what to do. My recommendation is to continue cold turkey, because that's what tends to be best for young children going from a crib to a bed, or a parent's bed to their own room. Giving up bottles for sippy-cups, sippy-cups for regular cups—the list goes on. But you're right. She's not a child."

"And there's no gentler way to do that?" There had to be. Because unless Emily made him, he didn't think he was going to force Wisp to sleep alone in her room again. Not right now. Not when she was still so emotionally fragile and unable to comprehend. He understood that confusing her was bad and he didn't want to do that, either. There had to be a compromise, didn't there?

"If the goal is for her to understand that this is her room and that," Emily pointed across the hall, "is your room, it's best not to muddy the issue. It's best for her to sleep here, and you to sleep there. For her to gain a sense of ownership over this space, she can't see it as an extension of your house, but as a place that's entirely hers. Once she crosses this threshold, she's the boss. This is _hers_. She can make messes or keep it clean. She can rearrange all the items on the shelves. When she's in here, it's her time to do as she pleases—to look at books, or use her art supplies, or watch a movie. Yes, getting her out of your bed is important. But opening her mind to the idea of her own space and her own time—to autonomy—is, I think, the more salient goal."

Edward let out a breath. "And you think easing her into sleeping alone will hinder the process?"

"I honestly don't know." Emily gave a low chuckle of frustration. "But I prefer not to take chances I don't have to."

And Edward preferred not to cause pain he didn't have to.

"One more night," he decided. "I'll try this cold-turkey thing for one more night, but if she's still like this tomorrow, we're going to have to do something else."

Emily seemed to think this was acceptable. At least, she didn't argue with him. "You can call me any time, day or night. The only time I won't answer is if I'm with another patient, which are few and far between right now."

* * *

After Emily left, Edward again tried to lure Wisp downstairs. She stared at her knees, thumb in her mouth, rubbing her nose slowly with her curved index finger. She would not lift her arms to him, so Edward decided to let well enough alone, at least for a little while longer. This wasn't the sort of shutdown she'd had after finding that Bible in the box of old books—for one, she was keeping her clothes on. She acknowledged her cat and stroked its fur when it came near enough. But she would not talk, and did not want to move.

She'd missed breakfast since she wouldn't leave her room, so Edward brought her box of snacks upstairs for her. He was never allowed to eat in his room as a kid but fuck it, this was Wisp.

"I'm sorry," he told her as he set the plastic bin down. She'd discovered goldfish crackers the other day and loved them, so he made sure there were at least two of the little individual-serving bags in her stash of snacks. "I know this sucks. It sucks for me, too. I wish I knew exactly what to do—what you need."

She did not respond.

"I know. I'm probably not your favorite person right now." He bent to kiss the top of her head, then made himself leave the room. If she needed some time, he'd give her time. Emily said before that she would come to him when she was ready. He could only hope the advice worked as well this time around.

Instead, Edward tried to busy himself around the cabin. He swept the kitchen—much easier without the table—and oiled a few creaky cabinet hinges. He scrubbed the bathroom, not because it needed it, but for something to do. Afterward, he brought Wisp a chicken and cheese quesadilla for lunch, and was gratified to find two empty snack wrappers—some fruit snacks and oyster crackers. She was eating. That was good.

As the afternoon wore on, he pretended to do some work on his laptop. His book was way behind schedule. Luckily, academic publishers were quite used to that, and he wasn't too worried. It would get done when it got done. Sometimes publications were delayed by years due to unforeseen issues with research methods or faulty mathematics. Edward's problem wasn't any particular study, but it didn't matter. Wisp was his top priority, and always would be.

As that automatic thought filtered through his mind, Edward tensed.

Always?

Really?

The future—_his_ future—spilled out in front of him, hazy and indistinct. He liked research well enough and wanted to continue working, but what else? What else was out there for him? If he couldn't answer that question, could he really dedicate himself to this needy girl for as long as she required? Always, if necessary?

It was a sobering thought, and one that he honestly couldn't answer.

Carlisle thought not—or, rather, he thought that Edward _shouldn't_. Alice seemed to assume they were a package deal now—Edward and Wisp. Esme was prepared to act as the girl's surrogate mother. But no one, it appeared, had any real plan for the future. He, Edward, was just muddling through, day by day. She needed so _much_. And it wasn't that giving it to her was a hardship; not at all. But he was willing to admit to some sleepless nights and plenty of headaches, worrying about her. Everything in his world right now revolved around one lost little girl.

Maybe Emily was right. Maybe he did need to talk to someone. Gain some perspective.

A soft sound from upstairs pulled him from his thoughts. Instantly he was on his feet. Maybe she was finally ready to come out of her room?

When he reached her, Wisp was at the open doorway of her room, curled just inside the jamb. The noise he'd heard was soft sniffles as she cried into the little hollow between her chest and her bent knees. She hugged her legs—not rocking, but sitting very, very still.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Edward squatted down in front of her and rested his hands gently on her knees. "Shh, sweetheart. Please don't cry. There's no reason to cry." He slid one hand into the little hollow between her legs and her chest, searching with his fingers for her chin. Her cheek was surprisingly hot when he touched it. "Wisp? Wisp, come on, please. Let me see you."

He urged her face up and she didn't fight him, but he saw from the furious crease between her eyebrows that she didn't want to move. Her wet cheeks blazed. Edward was baffled. She wasn't sick, nor was she crying hard enough to redden her skin. This was no meltdown—just simple tears.

"Come here, sweet girl," he crooned, moving his arms to encircle her and draw her close. He'd done it so many times that the gesture was reflex now. "You've been in there by yourself long enough." Emily said Wisp couldn't sleep in his bed anymore. She'd said nothing about cuddling, and Edward was done waiting for Wisp to come to him.

The warm wetness he found when he slid his arm under her legs told him she'd been left alone in her room not just long enough, but far, far _too_ long.

"Fuck," he hissed, and he pulled her crying body close. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" Yes, there was a wet spot on the carpet where she'd been sitting. He hustled her down the stairs and deposited her in the bathtub fully dressed. "Sweetheart, don't cry. I'm so fucking sorry. You're not a prisoner in there—you're allowed out." Her warm cherry cheeks made perfect sense now. She wasn't melting down—she was embarrassed.

Done. Edward was done playing this cold-turkey game. Maybe it was best for small children, but it wasn't best for Wisp. She had so many bad memories in her past, and there was really no way to know what would trigger them. Changing something like this so suddenly, so firmly, was too rough, and rough treatment was something he absolutely refused to allow.

"Shh..." He kissed the top of her head as his hands fumbled for the hem of her shirt. She huddled in a miserable ball in the big tub, one thumb returning to her mouth. "Fuck. We'll get you cleaned up, honey. I promise. I promise, everything's all right." He'd far, far rather she got mad at him, maybe lash out with her little fists, than cry these quiet, hopeless sobs. "You're not a prisoner. Not up there—not anywhere." Clearly the attempt at independence had backfired in the worst way. Edward blamed himself. Emily was the professional, but _he_ knew Wisp better than anyone else did. He should have listened to his instincts. Maybe she did need to be in her own room, but not like this. Not like this.

He pulled her sweatpants and pink flowered underwear off, throwing the soiled clothing in the sink. She was shivering now, her skinny body shaking as she sat in the cold porcelain tub. He pulled off her socks, then started the flow of hot water.

"Here, sweetheart. Come on, you like baths. Just try to relax, okay? I'm so, so sorry."

The long sleeves of his shirt were wet from carrying her, so he shrugged off the material and put it in the sink, too. He'd rinse it all in warm water before throwing it in the wash, and everything would be fine. Laundry-wise, anyway.

Wisp was another matter.

He knelt next to the tub, watching her curled body, her face hidden from him. He could see the delicate curve of one red ear, and knew her discomfort had not faded. Embarrassment was something he'd never seen from Wisp before, and he didn't like that he had caused it now.

"Hey, sweetheart. Don't cry. I'm so, so sorry, honey. So sorry. We won't do that again—not like last night. I promise." He'd find a different way. Emily knew her discipline. He knew Wisp. There had to be some sort of compromise.

"Sorry." The whispered word was almost lost under the rush of water. She spoke into the hollow of her curled body, and Edward reached forward to gently pull her hair back.

"Shh, no, little Wisp. You have nothing to be sorry for. I do." He dipped his hand in the water and adjusted the temperature slightly. Guilt seemed to be one of his main emotions where she was concerned. He had the best of intentions, he did. But sometimes that just wasn't good enough. "I'm sorry. Do you hear me?" He lifted her chin once more and found her eyes. "Edward is sorry. Not you. Never you."

She blinked, wet lashes sticking for a moment before her eyes reappeared, deep and inscrutable as always.

"What I wouldn't give to know what's going on in there." He stroked her cheek gently, then released her. "I don't want you to feel sorry, or embarrassed. You didn't do anything wrong, I promise."

"Edward," she whispered. He couldn't hear her, but he knew the shape of her lips, the curve of her mouth when she said his name.

"I'm here, little Wisp. I'm here." He ran his hand down her back and she shivered under his palm.

"Bad."

"Yes. I was a very bad Edward when I did what I did. I'm so, so sorry."

"No." Her head turned very slightly, the barest hint of denial. "Good Edward. Bad Wisp."

"No. No, sweetheart. Good Wisp, I promise. You're not being punished. You're not being locked up." How could he make her understand? "You're such a good girl. So brave."

"Edward."

"Your Edward. Wisp's Edward. I'm right here." Anything she wanted. Anything to make her happy again.

"Stay." She turned to him with her wet brown eyes, one delicate hand latching onto his wrist. Her fingers weren't even close to meeting. "Please stay."

The words were so...so _normal_. Edward blinked at her, unable to respond. She sounded...normal. Like any other woman. Just two words, but they weren't broken at all.

"Of course," he finally managed. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

"Stay. Please stay." Her wet fingers tightened on his wrist and he felt a gentle tug.

"I'm here. Right here with you."

"Please?" She tugged harder.

"Wisp, I can't get any closer without climbing in there with you."

Which, he realized a moment later, was exactly what she wanted. She scooted sideways, making room, still holding his wrist. "Please, Edward? Please stay."

"Oh, honey." He covered her tugging hand with his palm, stroking the wet skin. "I'll hold you all you want, but not in the bath. Okay? Can you understand that?" Even if no one else ever found out, that was a line he just couldn't cross. Having her in his bed fully clothed was bad enough. This was...no.

"Stay," she begged, and Edward's stomach clenched when her full lower lip quivered.

"Fuck. You have no idea what that does to me, do you?" He leaned over the edge of the tub and nuzzled her nose. The tickling brush of her blinking eyelashes against his cheek made his heart beat once, strong and out of rhythm. So fragile. So delicate, and not just physically. One wrong word could crush her, one accidental burst of anger could destroy everything they'd struggled to build over the last months. He had the sudden, urgent desire to replace all her clothes with ones that said "Handle With Care" in huge print. "Unfortunately, there's no way to bubble-wrap a psyche, is there?" He brushed his lips against her cheek before pulling away. "I want to give you everything you want—everything you need. But this..." He shook his head slowly. "I just can't. I'm sorry."

He died a little inside when the fragile, trembling hope in her eyes died. That thumb went back in her mouth and she slumped forward, long hair falling to obscure her face.

"This isn't easy for me, either, you know." He reached for the washcloth since she did not seem at all interested in washing herself. "I wish I could explain better, but I'm not sure how." He started with her feet, tickling her toes lightly. Instead of the sweet smile and breathy giggle he was used to, he received a frown molded around the thumb in her mouth as she pulled her foot away. "Don't sulk, pretty girl." Did she even know how to sulk? Until today, Edward would have said she didn't know how to be embarrassed, so what did he know?

After she was clean again, he let her soak while he scrubbed the wet spot on the carpet and tossed their soiled clothes in the wash. She didn't protest when he left the room, though he could feel her dark eyes watching.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he said once she was dressed in clean pajamas, her damp hair combed smooth. "Come on, sweetheart. I'll order pizza for dinner—would you like that? And there's plenty of Esme's cake left over from your party yesterday."

Pizza and root beer seemed to help soothe Wisp's hurt feelings somewhat. She cuddled on his lap on the couch, and Edward didn't try to move her. He ordered a pizza that was half Hawaiian for Wisp and half pepperoni and olive for him. She tried a bite of his, but he could tell by her expressive face that she vastly preferred sweet pineapple to spicy pepperoni. He popped one of her DVDs into his laptop, which had a bigger screen than her little portable player, and they watched Lilo and Stitch mostly in silence. Whether she could follow the storyline he didn't know, but the bright, moving images held her attention as she snuggled into his arms.

"We haven't had a day just the two of us in a while, have we?" he murmured as the credits played.

She stole a discarded crust from his plate and bit off the end with a little tearing pull of her teeth.

"Everyone's been here helping with your room, and Emily's around all the time. Rosalie still demands your attention, too. You and me, we usually get some quiet time in the evenings, but we don't get whole days anymore. What do you say we do that tomorrow? Just us, okay?"

"Stay."

"Yeah, I know. We scared you pretty badly, even though we didn't mean to." He kissed the top of her head. "I don't know what to do but apologize and tell you I'll do my best to make it up to you."

Wisp seemed much calmer, but she was quiet—subdued. She stayed in Edward's lap, and when he had to put her down, her thumb went back in her mouth. She did not volunteer any preferences, and while she wasn't silent, she spoke little. Edward had expected the pizza and chocolate cake to get a bigger reaction, though she did wolf down two pieces of each. He needed to weigh her again, he reminded himself.

It was later than normal when Edward turned off the lights downstairs and headed up with Wisp in his arms. She clung to him fiercely, and he heard her trembling bleat of protest when he turned left into her room rather than right into his.

"Shh, little Wisp. You're fine. I'm not leaving you alone in here. Not again."

Whether she understood or not, she certainly didn't trust him. She wiggled in his grasp, and he almost dropped her before she wrapped her legs around him, shifting into a position where she could hold him as firmly as her little body allowed. "No," she pleaded, pushing her warm face into his neck. "No, Edward! Please!"

"Shh. It's okay, I promise."

Instead of setting her on the air mattress this time, Edward turned down the bedding on the narrow little daybed and sat down. Her sharp heels dug into his lower back, fingers gripping his shoulders with a strength borne of fear. He hated himself for putting that fear in her, regardless of how well-meaning it had been.

"We're going to sleep here," he told her, stretching out on his back, feeling the mattress conform to his body. It was unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable. "Both of us. Just like in my room, okay?"

She sat on his stomach, legs sprawled to either side, palms pressed warm against his chest. "Edward?"

"Sleep." He reached out to her, motioning for her to lay her warm body down. "I'm going to stay with you tonight. Not like before, I promise."

"Stay?" Her lower lip disappeared behind her upper teeth. "Sleep?"

"Yes." Edward nodded. "Just you and me. Just like always."

Wisp lowered her body cautiously down, and Edward drew her crisp new bedding around them. Dark, inscrutable eyes blinked at him in the dim, twinkling light of the false stars on her ceiling. "Stay?"

"Yes. As long as you need."

She wrapped herself around him with a deep, shuddering sigh, turning her head to the side and nuzzling into his chest. Most of the tension drained from her body as Edward held her close. He felt an answering lightness in his own self, an echo of her tension melting away now that she was back with him, where he was used to feeling her.

"Edward?"

"Mm?"

"Thimble." She kissed him softly, right above the beating thrum of his heart.

He couldn't stop the chuckle that shook them both gently. "Thank you, little Wisp."

* * *

As far as Edward could tell, Wisp slept soundly through the night. No meltdowns. No nightmares. He woke around seven to her warm weight curled on his chest and a purring little black furball by his cheek. They'd do this for a week or so, he decided, and then maybe he'd try moving Wisp to her air mattress while he stayed on the bed. If she didn't like that, they could both use the air mattress first, to mitigate the strain. Once she could sleep through the night without physically being held by him, he'd work on getting out of her room. Maybe it wasn't what Emily had wanted, but Wisp kind of made her own rules and the people around her would have to adapt if they wanted to successfully help her. She was too delicate for a tough-love approach.

The hot tub was fully operational—had been for a few days—and Edward planned to introduce Wisp to it today. She'd seen the pictures in the brochure, but he was willing to bet she didn't realize what they meant.

Today she'd find out.

Wisp didn't seem to mind the switch from one room to the other as long as Edward stayed with her, and she woke in good spirits, though she was still clingy. After the fiasco of the past day, he didn't blame her.

Together they fed Pet and made breakfast. Edward had intended to make omelettes, but ended up with scrambled eggs with spinach and cheese instead. Wisp didn't care. She chose cranberry over apple juice, and an English muffin over toast when Edward gave her the option, and she happily ate her breakfast at the coffee table with Pet at her knee, begging for cheese.

After breakfast, Edward let her draw for a while while her food settled, then went upstairs to change and grab her swimsuit.

"Rose!" she cried the moment she saw it.

"No, no Rose today. I'm glad you remember, but today it's just you and me, okay?" He helped her into the stretchy suit, grabbed a few towels, and offered Wisp his arms.

She came willingly, holding the towels as he held her, and Edward took her out the back door to the hot tub sitting under its new roof. The smell of fresh-cut wood and waterproof sealant was strong in the damp air.

Edward set her on the stairs leading up to the tub, and she squealed as she watched him remove the cover. "Edward!"

He laughed. There—there was the bright sparkle in those big brown eyes. He'd missed it more than he realized. "It's a belated Christmas present from Carlisle and Esme. Do you like it?"

"In?" She crawled to the lip of the tub and poked her fingers at the steaming water.

"Yeah, you can go in. That's what it's for, silly girl." He watched as she turned awkwardly, lowering her legs into the water, much more careful than she'd been at Rose's house. Edward followed her, watching carefully as she settled onto the curved seat of the tub. "Do you like that?" he asked, standing in the middle of the hot tub. She'd scrunched down until the water lapped at her chin, submerging all but her head. Hot water was one of her favorite things, and he watched her revel in the warmth. Carlisle and Esme couldn't have picked a better gift.

After letting her soak for a while, Edward held out his arms. "Hey, I want to try something. Will you come here?"

Wisp let him pick her up easily enough. He held her under her arms, carrying her to the middle of the tub.

"I want you to put your feet on the bottom, okay?" He lowered her slowly, her hands gripping his shoulders, her feet kicking in the water, skidding against his legs until they touched the bottom.

Wisp's little cry of surprise was high and sweet, and she steadied herself against him as he slowly removed his arms from her body. Edward let her cling, her hands tight on his shoulders, then his biceps as he drew a half-step back. The water buoyed and he steadied her, but she was standing.

"Good girl!" Edward smiled wide. "Good girl, look at you. You're up."

The water lapped at Wisp's chest. Her enormous eyes stared down through the crystal swirls, and she wiggled her toes. A breathy laugh escaped from her lips, her cheeks pink with warmth and excitement. "Edward!"

"You haven't tried to stand since Christmas. I wondered if you would." Edward watched her with pride. "What do you think?"

"Up." Her wide smile revealed that single dimple that only rarely showed.

"You sure are." He shifted back again, his wet arms sliding under her palms until she was holding his wrists. "Come here, little Wisp. Walk to me. I bet in the water you can do it, no problem."

She bit down on her lower lip, still holding his wrists just below the surface of the water. Edward held still, letting her puzzle this out on her own. The resistance of the water seemed to confuse her—or maybe her muscles were just too weak to really push against it. Instead of stepping out with one foot, she bore down on his wrists and made an awkward sort of hop, settling back to both feet again.

Edward chuckled. "Not quite what I was going for, maybe, but good enough. We'll get there."

She released her death-grip on one wrist and pushed at his chest. Edward stepped back obligingly. Eyes sparkling, she grabbed his arm again and repeated her little hop.

"You like that?" Edward backed up, following the rounded curve of the tub. "More?"

"More," she agreed, lifting off the bottom, following his steps with bunny hops. They worked their way twice around the hot tub, picking up a little speed, Wisp's movements becoming less awkward each time she tried. She was breathing deeply, her face red by the time they stopped, and Edward sank to the underwater seat again, watching her do the same. She lifted an arm free of the water and her pink skin steamed.

"We don't want to do too much at once. Your body isn't used to really being used the way it's supposed to. It'll take time to work right."

"Up?"

"Yes, up. I'm glad you like it. Water's a good place to start so you don't hurt yourself."

"Up." She tugged at his wrist.

Edward laughed. "Okay, one more time around, but then we should probably get out. It's not good to sit in here for too long."

* * *

Emmett stopped by after lunch, and Edward knew the minute he pushed through the door that something was wrong. "What happened?" he demanded, tightening his grip on Wisp. She glanced up at him, then returned her attention to the bowl of chocolate cake in her hands. Potential scenarios raced through his mind—had someone called the tip line with some sort of damning information? Had James broken out of county lockup? Did someone know where Wisp was?

"Well, first, Garrett sent this over for her." Emmett pulled a DVD out of his jacket pocket. Edward took it and examined the cover. It was a selection of old _Joy of Painting_ episodes featuring Bob Ross. Wisp would probably love it.

"Great. Now what's the bad news?"

"Mine?" Wisp inquired, looking at the DVD with interest.

"Yeah, it's yours." Edward handed it over. "Well?"

Emmett rubbed the back of his neck. "The guy whose photo we showed to little Wispy?"

"You were supposed to try to get an earlier photo for us."

"Yeah, it's about that. Him."

"What about him?"

"He's gone."

Edward blinked. "Gone?"

Wisp tugged at his sleeve. "Mine?" She pointed upstairs.

"Yes, you can take your new DVD up and watch it." He gave her a squeeze and then released her, watching as she set her empty bowl on the table and crawled her way toward the stairs. "What do you mean, he's gone?"

"Just what I said." Emmett collapsed into a chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. "His sister-in-law gave me an earlier photo, just like you asked. While I was in the area anyway, I decided to knock on his door, see if he had anything to say. When I got to his house—poof. Looked like he cleared out of there in a hurry. Some little boys were in his yard—said he'd been gone at least three days."

* * *

A/N: In case you missed it, I posted my 90's contest entry earlier today. I came in pretty much last, lol, but I still had fun writing Grungeward. You can find him on my profile. :)


	46. Chapter 46

_A/N: Ohai! Yes, this chapter took a little longer than usual, but that's because some fairly big stuff happens. *side-eyes a certain guest reviewer*_

_Also, be afraid, be very afraid. Ooza is hosting an anal sex fanfic contest. Yeah, you heard right. Wanna enter? Check out letsdoanal dot blogspot dot com. I...may or may not be entering. ;-) _

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Wisp**

"Edward, don't worry. Everything will be fine, I promise." Alice squeezed his arm and handed him Wisp's suitcase. "I'll take Pet to get her cast off this afternoon while you're gone. I'll feed her her dinner, Esme will stop by to feed her the next morning, and you'll be back by that afternoon."

Edward gave her a look. It wasn't the stupid cat he was worried about, and Alice knew it.

"You have her Ativan if she needs it. Snacks and distractions for the ride—I really think you've covered everything."

Having material items for the trip didn't make Edward feel any better. "I'll call—"

"Yes," she interrupted. "You'll call if anything happens. But it won't. Everything will be fine."

Edward wanted to believe her, but too much was riding on this trip, and too much could go wrong. He couldn't make himself think positive when every possible horrible scenario kept running through his head.

"Emily's here!" Esme called from downstairs.

He took a breath. Everyone was here.

Time to go.

Esme was just finishing taming Wisp's long, flyaway hair into a thick, dark braid as Edward followed Alice down the stairs. He watched his mother wrap her arms around the girl from behind and whisper something in her ear as she held her close. Wisp pressed her cheek to Esme's and smiled. The expression lit her face from inside; she glowed with happiness.

"Thimble?"

Esme held her cheek still and let Wisp place a careful kiss. "You be good, okay?" Her voice wavered, and she cleared her throat. Edward wasn't the only one nervous about this trip. "Not that you're ever anything but an angel. Be brave. I know you have it in you." She kissed Wisp's cheek in return, then relinquished the girl as Edward bent to pick her up. Her eyes were suspiciously bright. "Take care of her, Edward."

"I will," he promised. He'd agreed to this trip for the sake of the investigation, but his first and most important task was keeping Wisp safe, both physically and emotionally. She trumped everything else. Emmett could go to hell if he thought otherwise.

Esme kissed him, then took the handle of Wisp's suitcase and headed for the open front door. Rosalie stepped close, holding Pet in her arms. "Give Pet a last thimble, kiddo," she said, lifting the little animal to Wisp's level in Edward's arms. "You'll see her again tomorrow."

"Pretty Pet." Wisp stroked her cat with gentle fingers and kissed her sleek black head. "Good Pet."

"Yes, good Pet will be waiting for you when you get home." Rose kept hold of the little animal so it couldn't escape out the open door again.

"Wisp, honey, it's time to go." Edward watched the girl in his arms carefully as he stepped toward the front door. He'd explained to her last night where they were going, and why, and when they'd be back. Whether any of it registered he didn't know, but he didn't like the thought of springing something like this on her without at least attempting to communicate.

She was quiet as they stepped out into a light drizzle, Emmett holding a big umbrella over them, shielding Wisp from the worst of the wet. Either Esme or Alice had put a pair of brand-new pink Chucks on her feet—only the second time she'd ever worn shoes, to Edward's knowledge. She wore slim jeans and had a light jacket layered over her long-sleeved shirt. Edward was so used to seeing her in sweats or yoga pants, feet free of shoes. This was honestly a little weird for him. He wondered how it felt for her.

Emmett held the umbrella and the back door of the car they'd be using for this trip—not Edward's Volvo, but an unmarked police car. Edward didn't know how Wisp would feel about being in a different vehicle, but she seemed calm enough as he settled in with her warm little body on his lap. Emmett closed the door and headed for the driver's side while Emily slid into the seat in front of them. Edward was the one who'd asked her to join them; he had no idea how Wisp would react to any of this, and he wanted her therapist around in case of the epic meltdown he more or less expected.

"Bags all in the trunk? Everyone used the bathroom? I'm not stopping before Puyallup!" Emmett started the car. Edward glanced at his feet to make sure the backpack with stuff for Wisp had been put in the car rather than the trunk, then settled back. "Ed," Emmett said, "I'd feel a lot better if she was buckled up in her own seat, since we're gonna be on freeways. This isn't just a drive around town."

"I'll try in a few minutes." Edward pressed a gentle kiss to Wisp's forehead as she nestled against his shoulder. "As soon as I know she won't freak out just because of the car."

Esme and Alice waved from the doorway of the little cabin as the unmarked police car pulled out of the gravelly clearing and onto the road. Wisp watched with big, solemn eyes as the women grew smaller and finally disappeared, swallowed by the forest. She sighed and snuggled into Edward's chest, one arm wrapping around him, sliding between his shirt and his jacket, seeking body heat. "Edward?"

"I'm right here, little Wisp," he promised.

"My Edward?"

"Wisp's Edward. Always Wisp's Edward."

The three of them—Emmett, Edward, and Emily—had discussed this trip for days before Edward finally agreed that they would go. The fact that it meant cancelling Emmett's attempt at poker night didn't hurt, but what really swayed Edward was Emily's promise that she'd go with them to help mitigate whatever fallout might occur. Scott was on board. Edward knew this was important, but he still worried. How could he not?

The drive to Puyallup was really only about four hours. Normally, they could make it there and back in a day, no problem. But Wisp was not used to long car rides and nobody knew how she would react, so they booked a hotel in Tacoma for the night, just in case. They'd take things as slow as she needed. This trip would be stressful enough without pushing her needlessly.

Wisp was not happy when Edward tried to settle her in her own seat, off his lap. The seats in the car did not seem to count as furniture in her mind, but she didn't want to be so far away from him and she _definitely_ did not want to be buckled in place. They pulled over at a rest stop, and it took almost half an hour for Edward to convince her that the seat belt wasn't a nefarious piece of equipment. Once she realized that she could release herself with the press of a button, she calmed down. She still refused to sit all the way on the other side of the bench seat, so Edward moved to the middle, where there was only a lap belt. No way was he letting Wisp sit there, with less protection.

She dug through the backpack with delight when Edward handed it to her, pulling out a folded blanket, two books, the little teddy bear Alice had given her when she was sick, and her DVD player. She'd fallen in love with Bob Ross and _The Joy of Painting_, which of course meant that everyone insisted on gifting her with every DVD the man had ever made. Edward swore he heard that soft, lilting voice in his dreams, talking about happy little clouds and trees. He'd packed her one _Joy of Painting_ and one DVD of old Mickey Mouse cartoons, hoping she'd choose the latter but knowing she wouldn't. She hugged her teddy bear close as she leaned against Edward's side and watched a painting appear on Bob Ross's canvas.

They stopped again about two hours into the drive, pulling into a service station to use the bathroom and top off the gas tank. The store, thankfully, was nearly deserted, and the man behind the counter barely glanced up when Edward entered with Wisp on his back. The restroom, luckily, was a unisex one-at-a-time room, and Edward was able to slip in with Wisp without disturbing anyone.

"Okay, little Wisp," he said. "This isn't going to be fun, but I'll buy you a treat afterward, okay?" He lay down a paper protector on the toilet seat—something he'd never done for himself—then stood with his back to the toilet and slowly lowered her down. She blinked at him once she was seated, brows drawn together in confusion. "Yeah, I know. But I do _not_ want you on this floor, okay? God knows what you'd catch." He helped her with the stiff button and zipper of her new jeans, then held her just off the toilet seat so she could slide them down. "Good girl," he sighed as he set her down again. "Go ahead and go, okay? I know I don't usually stick around, but I don't want you on your knees after. Look—I'll even turn around."

He did, listening to the sounds as she obeyed, only turning back once he heard her flush. She was about to slip to her knees, but he prevented her, helped her back into her jeans, and then held her over the sink so she could wash her hands. She laughed at the dryer that blew warm air on her hands, and Edward carried her back out into the store.

"Everything okay?" Emily was just outside the bathroom door, waiting in case she was needed. But they'd managed, and Wisp was staring at interest at the aisles of junk food. Not crying. Not trembling. Her arms wrapped around Edward, yes, and she held the material of his jacket tightly in her fists, but that wasn't so bad, considering.

Edward smiled. "Yeah. I think we're just fine." He drifted closer to the displays. "Do you want to pick something? What do you want?"

Wisp stuck her finger in her mouth, eyes flicking back and forth over the brightly-wrapped products. She didn't know what most of them were, but they held her interest anyway. She chose a package of Twinkies finally, and Edward asked Emily to grab a bottle of chocolate milk for her, too. Emily took everything to the counter to pay, and Edward headed back to the car with Wisp in his arms. "Beautiful girl. I know this is confusing, but I'm going to do my best to keep you happy, okay?"

He unwrapped her Twinkies as they pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the highway, and Wisp bit a huge bite off the first cream-filled cake. "Um!" she mumbled through the food.

"Hook her on processed sugars, why don't you?" Emmett snickered from the front seat.

"A little every now and then won't hurt her. Will it, pretty girl?" Edward held her milk so it didn't spill as she chewed.

"Tell that to Rose. She's researching how to make her own baby food. Says the premade kind isn't nutritious enough. I asked her if my kid was ever gonna know the delights of Pop Rocks, and she glared at me."

Edward snorted quietly. Yeah, that all definitely sounded like Rosalie. She was getting crankier and crankier as her belly grew and while he couldn't really blame her, he wondered how bad it was going to get.

They drove through a fast-food place for lunch, Wisp's eyes wide, her mouth pursed in a little O as she listened to Emmett holler their orders into a speaker and then collect greasy bags at the window. Edward ordered her chicken tenders and french fries, both of which she ate with ketchup after trying the honey-mustard dipping sauce and making a terrible face. She kept far away from Edward's burger, presumably because of the onions, and fell into a light doze against his shoulder as they neared Tacoma.

"What's the plan?" Emmett asked as the dense, hot smell of the paper mills surrounding the city filtered into the car. They had previously agreed that if Wisp handled the car ride well, they'd drive to Puyallup first. If not, they'd give her the night in the hotel to calm down first.

Edward watched as she slept on his shoulder. Her eyelashes fluttered every now and then and one thumb rubbed against her teddy bear's fur, which told him she wasn't deeply asleep. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of the mills, but she didn't sit up. The decision was left in Edward's hands, and while he wanted to put this off for as long as possible, Wisp _had_ taken the car ride extremely well so far. He lowered his lips to the top of her head for a moment before meeting Emmett's eyes in the rear-view mirror. "Let's keep going. She's okay right now." His presence, Emily's presence—the presence of people she knew and trusted—kept her calm. He hoped it continued to.

So Emmett drove around the city rather than through it, and they headed east of Interstate 5, into bleak, dismal-looking, muddy farmland interspersed with wet evergreens. Cattle huddled in miserable groups or squelched through sodden grass, caked to the knees in filth. Broken-down cars rotted silently next to decaying fenceposts. There was no rain at the moment, but the slick road hissed wetly as they drove and the sky hung low above them, heavy and dark.

"Hey, little Wisp?" Edward's mouth was dry. He swallowed. "Honey, it's time for you to wake up. I don't want you too groggy when we get there, okay?" He roused her gently, and she sat up after only a little coaxing. His inner tension rose the closer they got to their destination, humming in his bones like the car vibrated around him. There was absolutely no way to know what would happen once they got where they were going. Wisp's reaction might literally be nothing—no recognition of her surroundings, no trigger of her emotions. He was also prepared, as much as he could be, for a meltdown bigger than any he'd seen from her before. He honestly just didn't know, and the uncertainty ate at him, nibbling at his nerves, stress coiling in his muscles, holding him rigid.

Emmett's dashboard GPS droned instructions in an emotionless monotone, and with each turn Edward thought the knot in his gut couldn't twist any tighter. They entered a patch of wood, heavy branches reaching overhead to blot out the sky. One final turn, and then they pulled into a cracked cement driveway in front of a sagging two-story house.

Emmett killed the engine. Outside, a crow called. There was no other sound. No kids in the street, nobody in their yards. The houses themselves were few and far between, built well away from one another. To his right, Edward saw another house across a wide stretch of empty grass. To his left, only woods.

How much Wisp could see from her seat, he didn't know. She was very still. "Wisp?" His voice cracked. It was too loud for this silence.

Her pale little face tipped up to his, solemn and soft. She did not smile. Edward had seen many expressions from her in the months she'd been his. Abject fear, sorrow, joy—she wore her emotions plainly on that sweet, beautiful face. No posturing. No facade. She was as open as a baby, those dark eyes telling him so much about how she felt. It unnerved him that he could not tell now. She hadn't gone catatonic—"rag doll" as Rosalie called it. She was still there in those features he loved, huge eyes and perfect pink lips...but there was something unfamiliar there, too. Something he'd never seen before. Something that did not look like his little Wisp.

"Why don't we get out?" Emily's voice was quiet, smooth. The click of her seat belt reverberated through the car. Wisp flinched. "We're not going to learn anything sitting here."

Despite Wisp's earlier fascination with the seat belt clasp, she did not unbuckle herself. Edward had to, then pulled her unresisting body from the car. Her pink shoes seemed so small as her legs dangled, propped over his arm.

They studied the house before them. It had been blue once, now faded to dingy grey. Moss grew in patches on the roof. Three cement steps led to the front door. There was nothing in the yard or on the house to hint at the person who lived there. No flag. No garden gnomes. No political signs hammered into the lawn or pasted to the windows. Dandelions and thorny weeds pocked the scraggly grass. The smell and feel of the air promised rain.

"Wisp?"

Her body jerked at the sound of his voice.

"Wisp, talk to me, please." He'd end this now if she wasn't okay. He didn't care how far they'd come. He'd turn them back around to the hotel—hell, back to Forks if she asked him to do it.

She inhaled a deep breath, her thin chest visibly expanding with air. "My Edward?" Soft, but there was something firm behind her words, as if she was just trying to be sure of him.

"Yes, little Wisp. I promise. Nothing will change that."

One arm rose. Edward expected it to shake, but it didn't. She stared at the house before them as she pointed. "Doctor." There was no question in her voice at all.

"Fuck yes," Emmett hissed. "Fuck yes, we've got you, you son of a bitch."

Edward hugged her tightly to him. Maybe _she_ wasn't shaking, but his legs definitely were. He shifted his stance, bracing himself. "Good girl. Such a good girl, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you."

"He's on the run," Emily reminded Emmett. "You don't have him yet."

"But we know who the fuck he is. His sister-in-law is getting a huge reward for this."

Carlisle and Esme had already promised a reward for solid information. It didn't get any more solid than Wisp's corroboration.

"Let's go inside. Local boys already did a first sweep, so it's safe." Emmett led them toward the front door, where a heavy padlock had been installed. The asshole wasn't getting back inside his house without breaking a window. Edward doubted he was anywhere nearby, though. If the man had any sense he was in Mexico by now, or farther. Someplace that didn't like to extradite.

Wisp's grasp tightened on him the closer they got to the house. She pushed against him, light, frightened breaths falling along the collar of his jacket. "No. No, Edward."

"Shh, sweetheart." Edward stopped as Emmett fitted a key into the padlock. He exchanged glances with Emily, who hitched up one shoulder in approximation of a shrug.

"We've come this far," she said.

"Dude, you can't back out now." Emmett snapped the padlock open and the door swung inward. "I need as much from little Wispy as we can get. Names, memories—anything. Whatever she can give us."

Edward pressed his forehead to Wisp's. He could feel her rising fear and he hated it, but Emmett was right. They needed this information. "Sweetheart," he said, a warm breath feathering over his lips as she exhaled. "I know you're scared. I'm scared, too. Can you handle being afraid, just for a few minutes? This is so important."

She sniffled, then shifted her body in his arms until she could wrap her legs around him. Edward didn't argue with her about it—not today. Not here. He held her close and let her cling as they took the final step and entered the house.

The inside was remarkably clean and well-kept. Considering the outside, Edward hadn't expected it. The floor was cheap linoleum, yes, and curled at the edges, but it shone when Emmett flicked on a light. Carpeted stairs led upward to the right, old and worn, but unstained.

"Edward." Wisp whimpered. The furnace clicked on.

"He's not going to be too happy when he sees his utility bills." Emmett stepped further inside and put his hand to the doorknob of a closed door. "Shoulda had them shut off before he ran."

"You sure this place is safe?" Edward stopped just inside the doorway, determined not to move further into the house until he knew nothing in it would hurt the girl in his arms. He shifted his grip under her and said nothing about her ankles digging into his lower back.

Emmett pushed open the closed door. "Yeah, I told you. The local precinct sent some boys over to do a first sweep. No booby traps were found, and all weapons have been removed." A low whistle left his mouth when he poked his head inside the room. "Ed, bring her here."

Edward's heart pulsed hard and out of rhythm. "What is it?" Was this what a heart attack felt like? His chest squeezed hard, harder than Wisp held him. He felt like he couldn't get a good, deep breath.

"Would you just come here already?"

Fairly sure he was going to regret it, Edward nonetheless moved to join Emmett. Wisp whimpered a protest, her fists tightening in his shirt. "No, Edward. Bad."

"What's bad, sweetheart? Please try to talk to me."

"Bad doctor. _Bad_, Edward!"

Yeah, that much he already knew. Wisp herself was living proof.

Edward should have expected what he found inside the room. It made perfect sense. And yet, he hadn't. What legitimate doctor set up an examination room in his _home_? None that he knew—not Carlisle, not Jasper, nor any of their workplace contacts.

Of course, he had to tell himself, they weren't dealing with a legitimate doctor. Not if Wisp was any indication of his work.

There was a stainless steel examination table bolted to the plastic floor—more morgue than doctor's office, if Edward was being honest. Cheap composite cupboards lined one wall, with a counter and sink and more cupboards below. Emmett pulled one open, revealing boxes of latex gloves and disposable paper masks. "Holy fucking shit," he muttered. "Guy's got himself a nice little setup here." The rest of his thought went unsaid, but Edward read it clearly on his face. How many? How many more like Wisp were there? She couldn't be the only one. Not with something like this in the man's home.

"Wisp, sweetheart?" Edward nuzzled her hair with his nose. She'd buried herself in her safe spot, hiding between his neck and shoulder, and didn't seem at all interested in moving. He didn't blame her, but hiding wasn't exactly abnormal behavior for his girl. If they wanted a reaction from her, they had to lure her out.

"Stay, Edward," she pleaded, her legs redoubling their grip on his sides. "Stay."

"Shh, honey. I know you're scared, but you don't have to be. Not about that." His heart ached and his chest squeezed tighter. "You're my sweet girl, and I'm your Edward. Wisp's Edward. Okay? Nothing's going to change that." He didn't know if she understood, but it was the best he could offer her.

"Bad doctor. _Bad_ doctor. Hurt, Edward. Ow." She shivered, and he felt the irrational desire to wrap his coat around her, despite the fact that she had her own.

"We all believe you. You don't have to worry about that." He nudged her with his nose, urging her head away from its safe spot tucked against him. "He can't hurt you anymore. Will you look, little Wisp? See? You're safe, even here. I'm with you, and I won't let anything bad happen." Not that he could prevent. He had no control over what happened in her mind, though, and he knew it.

Slowly she shifted, every movement in her body dripping with reluctance, letting him nudge her away from his neck. Those huge, dark eyes blinked slowly as she gazed at the silent room. How long had it been? How long since she'd last seen it? His heart skipped a beat, then pounded hard against his ribs. It felt like it couldn't settle back into proper iambic rhythm.

Wisp sucked her lower lip into her mouth and bit down hard. Edward didn't have it in him to stop her. At least she wasn't sucking her thumb.

"Bad doctor," she murmured. "Bad doctor." She sounded as if she were speaking to herself rather than to him. "Ow."

"What about the bad doctor, little Wispy?" Emmett urged. "What did he do?"

She ignored him. Her eyes were distant. For the first time, the sweet little childish girl, so young for her years, looked suddenly old. Her mouth pulled tight, lines creasing her petal skin where they'd never been before. Her dark eyes held things Edward understood he would never truly know. She was like a prisoner of war back at the place of his internment, and he was like the documentary filmmaker, witnessing the aftermath of a grief that would never fully heal. He could document this. He could share it with the world from his perspective, but Wisp's would forever be out of reach. No matter how many times he said it, he could never truly understand.

"Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried."

Wisp had quoted this line once before, when Esme mistakenly put a Bible in a box of books for her. The Book of Ruth, Carlisle had said. It was from the Book of Ruth.

"What about Ruth?" Edward asked, meeting Emily's eyes for a moment before focusing his attention back to Wisp. He was unsurprised to see that Emmett had a video camera out, recording.

"No." Wisp shook her head fiercely. "No, Edward. Not Ruth. Wisp. _Wisp_."

"Okay, honey. Okay." He tried to soothe her. "You're Wisp, and we all know that."

"Edward's Wisp. _Edward's_ Wisp." She draped her arms around him and buried herself back in the crook of his neck.

"Yes," Edward said, though he felt more than a little misgiving. He didn't really want her to think of herself as his. "And I'm your Edward. Nothing will change that, I promise."

"Edward's Wisp," she repeated, firm, unyielding. "Not Father's Ruth. Not Doctor's Ruth."

Edward looked helplessly at Emily. He'd been sure—they'd all been sure—that her name, when she had one, was Isabella. Not Ruth. "Not Isabella?" he asked, still watching Emily. Her scarred face gave him no hints as to what he should do.

"Not Daddy's Isabella. Edward's Wisp."

Edward refused to argue with her.

"Wisp?" Emily said softly. "Wisp, will you look at me, please?"

The girl shifted in Edward's arms. She didn't lift her head, but she watched Emily cautiously.

"Wisp, can we maybe talk about something else? Edward's not going anywhere without you, I promise."

Dark eyes blinked at her. Edward wished he could sit down, but there were no chairs in the room other than the doctor's wheeled stool, and he wasn't willing to sit on that. And he wasn't setting Wisp on that fucking table—not for anything.

"Tell me what you know about this room, Wisp."

Edward didn't miss the fact that Emily reinforced Wisp's name with every sentence.

"This—do you know what this is?" Emily reached into an open box of latex gloves and pulled one out.

"Glove." Wisp sucked her lip back into her mouth. Edward hadn't actually expected her to answer, particularly not correctly.

"And this? What's this, Wisp?" Emily put the glove back and extracted a mask instead.

"Mask." Wisp unclenched one fist and covered her mouth and nose in imitation of what the item did.

Without speaking, Emmett opened another cupboard.

"Alcohol," Wisp said without being prompted. She pointed at the row of plastic bottles of isopropyl alcohol. "Hydrogen peroxide." She knew the clear bottles from the opaque brown ones. Her mouth stumbled over the long, technical words, but her brain knew them.

"Good girl." Edward pressed his lips carefully against her temple. Emily had managed to distract her, at least. Whether Wisp's knowledge of the items in the room meant anything, he really didn't know.

"Stuff...steff..._stethoscope_." She forced the word from a protesting mouth, pointing at a closed drawer. Emmett snatched it open and yes, inside a case, they found a stethoscope.

"Wisp, how did you know that?"

Emily's question received no answer.

One by one, Wisp proceeded to tell them exactly what was in each cabinet and drawer before Emmett opened it, and he focused his video camera on the contents to make sure to catch that she was correct. Only once did she make a mistake, when she named an object that wasn't there. Edward didn't care. She'd proven beyond a doubt that she knew this place.

The things they found weren't surprising—or wouldn't be, in a doctor's office. Cotton swabs. Cupboards full of neatly-stacked medication, most of which looked suspiciously like things you couldn't buy over the counter.

"Speculum."

Edward suddenly felt sick to his stomach. The girl in his arms was warm, her body so soft, so fragile. He wished he could banish the pictures in his mind when he looked at the steel instrument. The fact that they'd found neither lube nor autoclave made him shudder. How many girls? How long had this been going on? And why the _fuck_ had no one noticed until James Newton was stupid and drunk enough to leave a girl near death in the back of a truck and then gamble it away?

"I need to sit down." His chest squeezed tighter. Still unwilling to use the doctor's stool, Edward backed out of the examination room and headed deeper into the house. A dining room with a table full of clutter was good enough; he kicked a chair out and sank into it, taking care not to smash Wisp's feet into the slatted back.

"Edward?" Dark eyes stared into his and she cupped his face in her hands as he'd done so often to her. A frown hovered over her eyebrows and lips.

"I'm fine, little Wisp." Sitting down helped. His chest still hurt and his heart wouldn't settle, but the strain of holding both himself and Wisp eased.

"Thimble." She stroked his cheek gently with a thumb and lifted herself enough to kiss his forehead. "Thimble, Edward." Another slow, deliberate kiss touched his cheek, then the tip of his nose.

"What does that mean, anyway?"

He wasn't expecting an answer, but a small chuckle from Emily greeted his ears. "I thought you'd know. A thimble is what Peter Pan calls a kiss. Will you give me your hand?"

Edward held out his near hand automatically. He should have known it had something to do with Peter Pan. It was the first book Rose ever read her, the first movie she'd ever seen. The story held a special place in her heart. "What are you doing?" he asked as he felt two cool fingers press against the inside of his wrist.

"Taking your pulse. Your face is white. Hush a moment."

Objectively, the doctor's house didn't smell bad, but the scent still made him feel sick to his stomach. Lysol, old carpet, the lingering hint of food from the kitchen.

"Edward." Wisp stroked his cheeks and petted his hair. She kissed his nose again, then sucked her lower lip back into her mouth.

"I'm fine." He slid his arm back around her once Emily let go.

"Your heart says otherwise."

"I'm too young to have a heart attack."

Emily laughed again, a broad smile stretching the scarred skin near her mouth. "You're not having a heart attack. You just need to calm down. I know this is really stressful; I can't imagine how much worse it must be for the two of you. But you're not going to help anyone if you pass out."

"I'm not going to pass out." Edward scowled. He was fine. He just needed to sit down for a minute. Some fresh air might not hurt, either. Rain or no, it had to be better than the half-imagined stink of this house.

"You stay there for a minute and take some deep breaths, just to be sure."

Edward didn't bother objecting. He held Wisp's body close against his own, taking comfort in the physical sensation. The way she combed her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck felt strangely good, too. "After today, you won't ever have to come back here again," he promised her. "We can shut the door on this part of your life." Shut, but not lock. Nothing could relieve her of her memories. He hoped Emily could at least help her deal with them.

That was the goal, anyway.

"Tell me about the doctor," he said, since prowling through the house didn't seem like such a great idea at the moment. "What was he like, sweetheart?"

"Bad doctor. Doctor bad." She settled against him once more, the fingers of one hand playing softly with the hair at the back of his neck. "Bad Doctor Gerandy."

"Yeah, I believe you. What else, little Wisp? What else can you tell me?"

"Hurt. Ow."

Yeah, he already knew that. The man was dead if Edward got to him before the cops did.

"How did he hurt you? What did he do?" Edward stroked a gentle hand down her back. He wasn't used to so many layers of clothing between them. She usually wore one shirt, not two plus a jacket. "Did he hit you?"

"Ow."

"I should have brought along a doll," Emily murmured. "We might have more luck asking her to point out where he hurt her."

"She has a teddy bear in the car."

"I don't want people splitting up right now," Emmett said quickly. "The guy's not here, but he's obviously bad news, which means his friends are, too. I'm armed, but you three aren't."

"We can try without, I suppose." Emily knelt next to the chair so she was in Wisp's view. "I'd like to know where Doctor Gerandy hurt you, Wisp, if you can tell me." She raised a hand and gently touched next to Wisp's eye. "Here? Did he hurt here?"

Wisp shook her head.

"Here?" Emily touched the tip of her nose.

Another shake.

"What about here?" Wisp's lower lip was between her teeth again, but Emily touched just the very corner of her mouth.

And Wisp hesitated.

"Here? Did the doctor hurt here?" Emily pressed gently, touching her lip again.

Very slowly, Wisp nodded. "Hurt," she whispered. "Ow." Her own hand rose, ghosting across her lips and down her throat. "Ow." Her nose wrinkled and her face twisted into a grimace. "Uck." She licked her lips and swallowed, as if repudiating a bad taste.

The grin that spread across Emmett's face did not bode well for their suspect. "You are _so_ going to jail, fucker," he muttered.

"Where else, Wisp?" Emily asked. "Where else did the doctor hurt you?"

Edward didn't expect words, but he also didn't expect what Wisp did next. She pushed her body slightly away from his, giving her room to reach between them. She grasped the hemlines of her shirts and pulled up, exposing her front. Her body twisted, turning toward Emily, and her free hand cupped first one barely-there breast, then the other. "Ow." Her voice trembled.

"Thank you." Emily reached up and squeezed Wisp's hands gently, then guided her to lower her clothing back into place. "I'm so sorry he did that. He shouldn't have."

"Hurt." Wisp pulled her hands free as a first fat tear wet her cheek. She grabbed her crotch with one hand and squeezed, the other fumbling at the fly of her jeans.

"You don't have to show me your skin—I understand." Emily halted her. "I understand, okay? He hurt you a lot, didn't he." It wasn't a question.

"Hurt," Wisp agreed. She reached back and rubbed her ass, or as much of it as she could reach while sitting. "Ow. Bad doctor. _Bad_."

"Yes." Emily nodded, words and movements slow and deliberate. "He was _very_ bad. No one has a right to touch you without your permission, Wisp. I know you probably don't understand right now, but I'm going to keep saying it until you do. _No one_ has the right to hurt you. Not ever."


	47. Chapter 47

A/N: Ohai duckies! I hadn't planned to update quite yet, but credoroza is kind of amazing and I lub her. :) Who's going to Twific Meetup in June? I am! I'm in charge of bringing the moonshine and bail money. ;-)

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

"Edward, calm down. You're scaring her."

He tried, he really did. But fuck, how was he supposed to stay calm when everything in him was trying to do the complete opposite? His stomach churned, anxious and nauseated, and his chest still squeezed tightly, closing in on itself, forcing him to struggle for air. Wisp's worried brown eyes hovered near, her soft mouth pursed in a trembling frown as one, then two, tears dripped down her cheeks. She sniffled.

Though Emily continued to talk, her voice faded from Edward's ears. His senses narrowed, and the girl in his lap—already his world—became everything he could see, everything he could hear. Her warm body pressed against his, one hand tangled in the short hair at the nape of his neck, the other cupped around his cheek.

"Wisp," he whispered.

She blinked. Another tear fell.

She was so beautiful. Everything about her, inside and out. So soft. So sweet. Her life prior to meeting him was basically one tragedy after another—a tangled mystery, a puzzle to which they had only a few pieces, even now. She'd been horribly abused, that much he knew, and not just by the son of a bitch in whose house they now lingered. Had anyone cared, before him? Ever? Why the _fuck_ had no one known about this girl's pain, and done something to stop it? His body shuddered and he held his breath, refusing the sick feeling that wanted to consume him. He couldn't vomit. Not here, not now. Not when Wisp needed him.

"Edward?"

Her worried, whispered plea broke him. "Come here," he said softly. "Come here, sweetheart. Will you give me a kiss? A thimble?" he corrected. He needed her near, the smooth reality of her warm body, whole and healthy, unbroken, in no pain.

"Thimble." Her murmur was solemn, as was the way she pressed her lips to his jaw, tender, loving.. "Thimble, Edward."

"Thank you, little Wisp." He drew her close, tightening his arms around her. Having her here, in his grasp, was immensely comforting. "Such a good girl."

"Stay. Stay, Edward."

Always. As long as the state allowed. He wasn't letting her go—not ever. Not when sick fucks like this doctor still walked free. "No wonder you don't like doctors." He still would have taken her to see Jasper because it was medically necessary, but he maybe understood her fear a little bit more now that he'd seen this monster's house. "Wisp," he murmured. And then, because he couldn't help it, "Bella."

She cocked her head to the side slightly, but didn't argue with him.

"You're my little Wisp right now, sweetheart. Not Isabella. Not Ruth. But someday you'll be your own person—your Bella. Wisp's Bella. _Bella's_ Bella. And we'll show them, sweet girl. We'll show them that they didn't win. You did, because you're stronger than everything they did to you."

"Edward's Wisp."

"For now," he agreed. "For as long as you need."

The sound of a car pulling into the cracked driveway catapulted Edward's stomach into his throat and he jerked to his feet with Wisp clasped firmly against him. Emily's eyes went wide, and Emmett had his sidearm in his hand before Edward could inhale another breath.

"Hello?" a male voice called from the front door. "Police! Everything okay?"

Emmett relaxed slightly. "Police," he called back, removing his finger from the trigger of his gun, though he didn't put it down. "Lieutenant Emmett McCarty, Forks PD."

"Detective Thomas Singh, Puyallup PD." The voice came closer, and an Asian man in plainclothes accompanied by a uniformed beat cop entered the dining room. They both flashed their badges, and the beat cop said he was going to do another quick check of the house while they were there.

"Tommy." Emmett holstered his gun and held out his hand. "Nice to finally meet you in person."

"You, too," the detective said, shaking his hand. "Dave's been one of the boys we have patrolling the area since Gerandy skipped town. When he mentioned a car with a license plate registered to the Forks PD was parked in the driveway, I thought I'd come out and see if I could be of any help."

"Thanks. Appreciate it." Emmett stepped back and waved at the other people in the room. "This is Dr. Edward Cullen, the Jane Doe victim—we call her Wisp—and her therapist."

Edward's heart didn't want to settle back down, but he managed to sit again. The detective seemed nice enough, though he'd scared the shit out of them. Wisp had hidden her face against his shoulder when she heard the unfamiliar male voice, and she peeked warily at the man from the safety of Edward's arms. He hugged her close and kissed her hair. "You're okay," he whispered against her head. "You're fine. The police won't hurt you."

"Yeah, we saw her on TV when you guys had your press conference," Tommy Singh was saying. "We passed her photo around, but nobody on the force ever remembers seeing her around." His shoulders lifted in a weary shrug. "I wish I had answers for you, I really do. D'you have any idea how fucked-up it is to learn that something like this's been going on in your jurisdiction and nobody knew anything?"

"I can imagine," Emmett said, pulling out a chair for Emily, then himself. The detective perched on a kitchen stool. "I know we talked a little bit before, you and me, but Edward and Ms. Young weren't around. What can you tell us about Leonard Gerandy?"

"Not much." Tommy held out his hands, palm up. "Nothing all that helpful, at least. He's owned this house for close to twenty years—of course we can't verify that he actually lived here during all that time, but it's been his only legal address that we know of. Never been married—again, as far as we know. Not in the US or Canada, at least. He went to school in Nebraska, moved out here around the same time as his brother did, in the 70's. Just the two boys in the family, parents are deceased. Leonard's pushing sixty, his brother is four years younger."

"Any kids?" Edward asked, thinking of the man with tattoos on his arms, the man Wisp had drawn twice now. If Gerandy was pushing sixty, he could certainly have a grown son.

"Nope. Not that we can find. Brother's got two—one in high school, one in college. Both girls. He's been notified by now, of course, but he was definitely surprised when he heard that his wife had gone to the police with suspicions. They live down in Aberdeen and the local PD interviewed the whole family. I think you were involved, Emmett?"

Emmett nodded. "Yeah, we gave them the go-ahead to interview, and they sent us videotapes and transcripts. The girls corroborated their mother's story that they were always somewhat uncomfortable around their uncle, but he never actually touched them inappropriately. The dad was completely oblivious. At first I thought he might be pissed at his wife for pointing the finger, but once he heard his brother had disappeared, the fight went out of him."

"It's hard to accept the thought of a family member doing something so awful, I'm sure," Emily murmured.

"I'm sure," Tommy agreed. "Anyway, the family's very cooperative, but they don't really know anything."

"Not even about the malpractice case that got his license taken away?" Edward relaxed his arms as Wisp peeked at the detective.

"Not really. Just that it was settled out of court, and Gerandy agreed to the revocation of his medical license as part of the settlement. His brother says he always insisted he was innocent but said he didn't think he could win that sort of he-said-she-said trial, which is why he settled."

"What was the alleged wrongdoing?" Emily asked. "Was it sexual in nature?"

"The brother doesn't know. He says he never asked."

"I'm not sure I believe that." Edward rubbed his thumb against Wisp's jacket. He hadn't grown up with brothers, but he'd grown up with two best friends. He couldn't imagine Jasper, for instance, not telling him something like that.

"Some families are just weird like that," Emmett said with a shrug. "I mean, look at James and Mike. They're cousins, and James was staying at Mike's house, but he says he had no idea about the girl in the truck, and I believe him."

Edward believed him, too. It was such a _Mike_ thing to do—to let his cousin's drunk ass stay with him, no questions asked. But still.

"Families come in all colors," Emily agreed. "Still, a little more information would have been nice."

"You're telling me." Tommy grimaced. "We have plenty of cold cases on the books, don't get me wrong. But this one—this one _needs_ to be solved."

Edward couldn't agree more. Leaving these assholes unpunished was not acceptable.

"Anyway, we talked to the neighbors after Gerandy disappeared. They're few and far between, as you can see, and they're tired of the neighborhood having such a bad reputation, especially after that crazy preacher died a couple of years ago."

Edward's head snapped up. "Crazy preacher?"

"Yeah. You can't reach his house by car from this street, it's the next one over. Through the woods right there." Tommy motioned vaguely. "Nobody wanted to buy the thing so it's just sitting empty."

"What happened?" Edward tightened his arms. A crazy preacher in the neighborhood? Wisp quoted from the Bible by rote, words she couldn't possibly understand, at least not completely. Not now. But _someone_ had to have taught her. "Who is he?"

"He _was_ a crazy preacher, before he kicked the bucket." Tommy scratched his chin. "Wasn't my case, but it was kind of big news, at least locally. He was born Stanley Tucker, but legally changed his name to Jeremiah as an adult. Claimed to be a prophet and amassed a small following in the late 70's and early 80's, then got thrown in jail for tax evasion and some other stuff. Once he got out, he fell off the radar. He wasn't causing trouble anymore, you know, so nobody bothered him. We got a call about, oh, two years ago, maybe? A little less, I think. Neighbors around here were complaining about delinquent boys roaming the neighborhood, breaking into houses, rooting through garbage, stuff like that. We caught a couple of them and they said they'd been living with a man they called Father. When we went to the house we found more boys, and Jeremiah Tucker dead in his study. I can't remember how long the ME said he'd been dead—like I said, it wasn't my case. Turned out he'd been running some sort of clandestine orphanage-thing. Boys of all ages, a very strict Biblical routine...Pentecostal, I want to say, though it could have been some sort of Baptist, I guess. Strict, like I said, in any case. We rounded up about fifteen boys during multiple calls out to the neighborhood and I know we didn't catch them all. Every once in a while we hear that one or two have come back to the house from wherever they ran off to, but they don't stick around. There's nothing left worth staying for."

Edward felt dizzy. It added up—a lot of it added up. But— "Boys? Just boys?"

"Just boys," Tommy confirmed. "We never found any girls."

"How did he get them? Where did they come from?"

Tommy shrugged. "That's an excellent question," he said. "Not from our foster system, that's for sure. All I know is, he didn't have legal custody of any of those boys. Maybe they were runaways, though some were pretty young for that, in my opinion. Maybe they were abandoned. Who knows? We were only able to find parents for two of the boys, and neither set was interested in taking their son back."

"Where are the boys now?"

Tommy shrugged. "A few are still in the foster system, I assume. Some ran away. A good portion are in lockup, either juvie or adult. I can't pretend to know the man's motivations for taking the boys, but whatever it was, he didn't do the greatest job at raising them. Most were literate, at least, but incapable in almost every other subject. They could do rudimentary arithmetic and they had the Bible pretty much memorized, but they had no grasp of modern history, politics, science—nothing. They were completely unprepared for the real world and incapable of living in it. If that's not a recipe for delinquency, I don't know what is."

Edward took a slow, deep breath. His chest squeezed tighter. So much of it fit, but Wisp was definitely a girl, not a boy. This Jeremiah Tucker only took boys. He exchanged a long look with Emmett.

"So, you see," Tommy went on, "the neighbors are understandably upset about another scandal. They're quiet people, and they just want to live their lives. They keep to themselves. Most of them knew there was a crazy preacher with a bunch of boys in his house, but they assumed they were foster kids. They had no idea he was doing anything illegal, and this is a pretty religious community. Even if they knew the kids didn't belong to him, they would have appreciated what he was doing."

"And nobody had anything to say about Gerandy?" Edward asked.

Tommy shook his head. "Nope. He kept to himself. The kids in the neighborhood said he'd patch up a skinned knee or whatever if they knocked on his door, but that was it. No claims of harassment or abuse. Little to no contact with the adults."

"And the preacher?" Emmett asked, glancing at Edward again. It was clear they were on the same page about that. "What about him?"

"None of the boys reported sexual abuse, if that's what you're asking. Most admitted that he did administer corporal punishment, but if he were their legal guardian he'd have the right to do so. In their eyes, from what I remember, he was quite strict and rarely kind, but they did not consider him abusive." He raised an eyebrow at Emmett. "What's the interest in our crazy dead preacher? Do you think he might have known your Jane Doe?"

"It's possible," Emmett said slowly, watching Wisp huddle in Edward's arms. "I'd like to show you something." One side of his mouth lifted in half a smile. "If I can remember any of my Bible, that is." He thought for a moment, then said, "Trust in the Lord with all thine heart."

Wisp peered at him for a long moment. Edward held his breath. She'd parroted Bible verses when Carlisle prompted her, but never for Emmett, and never in a situation like this, with a stranger watching, in a setting where she most definitely did not feel comfortable.

She swallowed, her graceful throat constricting for a moment. Those soft pink lips fell open, the lower one swollen from being chewed on. "...and lean not unto thine own understanding," she whispered after several seconds. "In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths."

"Good girl." Edward slid his fingers through her hair, hoping to soothe the troubled wrinkle between her eyebrows. "Good girl, that's enough."

"No girls?" Emmett said simply, watching the detective. "Are you _sure_?"

Tommy looked at Wisp for a long moment. "Come with me," he said finally.

They left the house, to Edward's relief. Dave, the beat cop, was waiting by the cars, and he lifted a hand in greeting.

"Dave, d'you have a key to the Tucker place?" Tommy asked. "I'd like to show these people."

"Sure do." The young cop stepped away from his car.

"Where are you going?"

He pointed to the woods. "There's a path leads right to the preacher's house. There's been no trouble in the neighborhood—no reason to move the cars."

Edward's chest tightened even further. The back of his neck was damp with cold sweat, and his hands were clammy as he held Wisp against him. The cool late afternoon air felt good against his skin, much better than the closed-up house, but his heart still hammered against his ribs unnaturally fast. He was glad Wisp was wrapped around him, her legs helping to hold herself up. Forcing air into his tight lungs, he stepped onto the wet grass behind Dave and squelched toward the woods.

Five minutes later, they emerged from an overgrown trail, into an unkempt yard. Tall, dead weeds littered what used to be flowerbeds, and a vegetable garden had grown to ruin. Edward recognized overgrown beet and broccoli plants, and the dead remnants of what used to be beans and peas. Close to the ground, choked with dandelions, the dark, glossy leaves of stubborn potato plants huddled.

Wisp whimpered in his arms.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?"

She hugged herself tightly against him. "Bad, Edward."

"I believe you." Nobody was too near, so he added, "And I love you."

She pressed close and did not cry, though he knew she didn't want to do this. Every breath she took, every movement of her body against his told him that much. He knew in his bones that this hurt her, but he also knew it was so, so important. They'd found her Doctor Gerandy, he had no doubt of that. And he suspected they'd also found the elusive "Father," too.

The house, when they came to it, was obviously abandoned. Derelict. Forgotten. Even so far from anything resembling a city, graffiti decorated the walls. Several windows were broken, jagged glass surrounding the blackness within. It was a large midcentury ranch, one level, sprawling and ugly, the mossy roof sagging badly. Edward was honestly surprised to see the door both intact and locked.

"No next of kin could be found when the preacher died," Dave said, fitting a key into the lock. "He owned the house outright, so no bank repossessed it. The county is supposed to deal with abandoned property but with the recession and all, they just don't have the budget." He shrugged and pushed the door open. The smell of mildew rushed out.

"So this place was left to rot," Emmett muttered. He peered into the darkness within and flicked a light switch experimentally. Nothing happened. Edward wasn't surprised.

"Basically," Tommy agreed.

"Is it safe to go in?" Edward hugged Wisp tightly. He wasn't risking her physical safety.

Dave shrugged. "I've been in a few times, to check on things. Don't want anyone setting up a meth lab or whatever, you know?"

"It'll be okay," Emmett said. "We won't stay long, I promise, Ed. We'll just look around."

Dave turned on a flashlight, and they stepped inside.

The place had been gutted, that much was clear. The kitchen cabinets were open, piping ripped to pieces for the worth of the metal. Someone had taken the refrigerator and the range, though Edward suspected they weren't worth much. Dishes littered the countertops and the floor, mostly broken. The pervasive, wet smell of mold was everywhere.

"Father," Wisp murmured. Her eyes were glassy, her expression almost dreamy in the dismal light that seeped through broken windows. She gazed at her surroundings, moving her head slowly, observing everything around her. She was remarkably calm, though Edward felt her little fists still clutching his shirt. "Father?"

"Gone, sweetheart."

She nodded to herself, almost as if she had expected that answer. "Home?"

"Your home is with me now, little Wisp. We're not leaving you here, I promise."

She brushed her nose against his in a soft, deliberate little nuzzle, then did something Edward never in a million years expected.

She loosened her grip on him and wiggled her body, asking to be put down.

"I don't know if that's such—"

"Put her down, Edward," Emily said softly. "Let her do this."

Aching, he did.

Wisp knelt on the old shag carpet, looking at the shadowed room. Black mold crept along the window frames, crawling deeper into the house, exposing the rot that surely lay within. Edward vowed to throw her jeans away as soon as possible. Washing them just didn't seem good enough after putting her down in this place.

"Father," she murmured, dropping to all fours. She slid along the filthy carpet, toward a couch backed against a wall. One cushion was missing, and Edward could see the white fuzz of mildew along one arm where water had obviously damaged the padding.

Wisp didn't try to climb on the furniture. Instead, she reached behind it with confidence, as if assured of what she would find. She felt around for a moment, then drew a faded blue vinyl mat, dusty and cobwebbed, out from between the couch and the wall. She pushed it down on the carpet in front of the couch and stared at it for a long moment. It looked like something that belonged in a preschool, maybe; Edward didn't know.

"Bed," she said. Her voice sounded almost...almost wistful.

"Shit." Emmett's voice was low, but irritated. "The camera keeps flipping from regular to night-vision; it doesn't like the low light in here. Where the fuck is the switch to change it manually?"

"Shut up," Edward snapped. He didn't give a fuck about Emmett's camera problems. "Wisp, sweetheart, that's not a bed."

"Bed," she repeated, turning to glance at him with her solemn little face. "Bed."

"Don't argue with her." Emily touched his arm. "Let her do this."

They followed Wisp down a dark hallway, Dave's flashlight the only illumination. She ignored rooms that had been clearly ransacked at some point—bedrooms with multiple bunk beds where the boys must have slept. A bathroom had suffered the same treatment as the kitchen, piping torn out for the value of the copper and other metals. The toilet was clogged and filthy, the liquid in the bowl a putrid greenish-brown. Wisp didn't give it a glance, moving instead to the door at the end of the hall.

It was locked. Wisp tugged at the knob, but it refused to give. She looked up at Edward with a pleading expression.

"This is where he was found," Dave said, glancing at the detective, then at Emmett. "We locked the room up after the investigation because of the biohazard, since no one was willing to pay for the forensic cleanup." He held up a key, but didn't fit it into the lock.

"Go ahead," Detective Singh said. "A few minutes won't hurt. Just watch the girl so she doesn't crawl into anything."

Edward held his breath as the door was unlocked and pushed open.

Instead of the putrid stench he feared, the room smelled mainly of decay, with a sweet, noxious undertone to it and the lingering whiff of some sort of chemical. A padded armchair, presumably where the body of Jeremiah Tucker had been found, was stained with something dark and moldy. Other than that, the room looked remarkably intact. Security bars on the two windows explained why. The rest of the house had been gutted, but not this room.

"Father," Wisp said. She did not attempt to crawl further into the room.

"What did he die from?" Emmett asked, panning the scene with his camera. "Just from being an old fuck?"

"Near as we could tell," Dave confirmed. "The ME said it was likely a heart attack. He was found right there. No signs of foul play, and none of the boys were ever implicated."

"Boys." Edward struggled to take a full breath. His chest kept squeezing tighter and tighter. "Why only boys? She obviously knew him."

"I really don't know. You're welcome to look through the files we took from here; they're all in our storage."

Edward looked around the room again, grateful when Wisp leaned her head softly against his leg. There was a large desk that dominated the space, and a small sitting area with the moldy armchair. A clunky old computer monitor, off-white and boxy, stood on the desk, but the tower was missing—presumably the police had taken it. There were several shelves full of books, and when he stepped closer to read the titles, they were all religious.

Wisp shifted away, crawling to the desk. Edward watched carefully as she pulled open the shallow, wide central drawer, exposing neat dividers full of pens, pencils, paperclips, and the like. Rummaging through with her delicate hands, she closed her fingers around something and brought it out into the beam of Dave's flashlight.

It was a switch—thin, flexible, wicked-looking. She scowled, sucked her lower lip into her mouth, and brought her fists together, bending the switch until it snapped. "Gone," she said, throwing the two broken halves to the floor with a measure of deep satisfaction. "Gone."

She reached back into the drawer and lifted the plastic dividers, scrabbling until she found a key hidden beneath them. With purpose, she palmed the key and headed for the door.

Edward followed without a word. Whatever she was doing, he wouldn't stop her. This was clearly something she needed to do.

They made their way down a different hall, and Wisp paused before another closed door. There was a deadbolt—odd for a door that did not lead to the outside—but it was clearly broken. She frowned and pulled at the knob, and the door opened to reveal what looked like a dark little closet. When Dave beamed his flashlight into the tight space, Edward saw a large wooden cross still hanging on the wall.

"God," Wisp murmured. "Pen-penance. Penance."

"We never found a key." Dave spoke equally softly. "Had to break the lock. The boys confirmed they'd be locked in here to kneel and pray as punishment."

"And they were hit." It wasn't a question. Edward had seen clearly what Wisp did to that switch. Tommy nodded anyway.

Wisp relinquished the key when Edward asked for it. He gave it to Dave, who slotted it into the broken deadbolt. It fit.

No one was surprised.

"Let's go," Emmett said after a minute. "It's getting dark. We can take a look at those records tomorrow, Ed, okay?"

Edward knelt next to Wisp. While the rest of the house was carpeted, the floor of this closet was bare wood. He couldn't imagine how it would have felt as a child, to be locked in here for who knew how long, forced to kneel, staring up at that cross or left in the dark with it. It surely wasn't the worst thing his Wisp had suffered, but it was bad enough.

"Wisp, honey." He touched her shoulder, and she turned to him with haunted eyes. "Hi, sweetheart. We're going to go now, okay? These people, they're gone. They're not part of your life anymore. You're going to go home with me, where you're safe and loved. You never have to worry about Father or Doctor Gerandy again."

"My Edward?"

"Yes," he confirmed, offering his arms. "Always your Edward."

* * *

A/N: If you're not reading my As Children After Play, it's getting close to the end! I'm so excited, it's been at least *whispers* two years!

Also, some of the Let's Do Anal contest entries are up! Read them at letsdoanal dot blogspot dot com. I miiiiight have co-authored one of them. ;-)


	48. Chapter 48

A/N: Hello, all my lovely readers. Yes, I've been gone for a while. For those of you who didn't hear on Twitter or through whatever fandom grapevine there might be, I was in the hospital. And I'm gonna be honest, because I'm not ashamed and I think it's important to talk about: I was at a voluntary inpatient facility after a suicide attempt. I've dealt with depression and anxiety for most of my life, and it just got the better of me. I'm working through an intensive outpatient program right now, which lasts the better part of a month. I don't know what will happen after that with RL, whether I'll go right back to work or not, but rest assured, neither Wisp nor ACAP are being abandoned. I just have a lot of RL stuff right now. So that's where I've been and what's going on with me. Shall we see what's going on with Wisp and Ed-ward?

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

They left Puyallup with a promise to return the next day to look at the police department's files. Wisp seemed perfectly happy to leave the past behind her. As Edward carried her away from the derelict old house, she stared at the dark, empty hulk for a long moment, lifting one hand in a solemn little wave, and then turned, brushing her lips against Edward's cheek and settling against him. Edward held her tightly. She'd been remarkably good, incredibly well-behaved, courageous beyond anything he'd any right to expect. So brave. So beautiful.

They had three rooms in a row on the third floor of a pricey chain hotel—one for Emmett, one for Emily, and one for Edward and Wisp. She rested silently in his arms as Edward carried her up the stairs and into their room, Emily following. She yawned into his shoulder and hugged him close as he sat on the side of the big hotel bed.

Emmett struggled into the room carrying and dragging the luggage. He grinned as he dumped everything in a corner and collapsed in a padded armchair. "So...what's next? Dinner? Pool?"

Edward considered the girl whose head nestled against his shoulder. She was sweet and quiet; he couldn't tell what she might want, other than some rest. And who could blame her? It had been a long, trying day. One hand drifted to her hair and he stroked the silken strands gently. "Wisp? What do you want?"

She tipped her head up, watching him with her big, solemn eyes.

"Do you want dinner? Food?"

She hummed softly, a noncommittal sound, as her eyes blinked slowly. "Edward."

"I'm here with you," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere." Not that it needed to be said, but he felt better reiterating the point. After being in those houses, he felt a deep need to keep her close, as if her past might snatch her back at any moment.

He also felt like a long, hot shower, for both of them. Or bath, in Wisp's case. The filth of the two abandoned houses clung close, both literally and figuratively.

"It might not be a bad idea to at least offer food." Emily reached for the room service menu on the table. "She's not in shock in a literal, medical sense, but she looks a little dazed."

She did. Edward hugged her close, and he had to smile when Emmett dug the little brown teddy bear out of Wisp's bag and offered it to her. She took the toy and cuddled it to her chest, even as she asked, "Pet?"

"Not tonight, I'm afraid," Edward said as gently as he could. "Pet is back home, where she belongs. You'll see her again tomorrow."

She pouted a little, but held her teddy bear and didn't complain.

"I could go for a huge steak." Emmett peered over Emily's shoulder. "Anything like that on the menu?"

"You guys can go out—you don't have to eat overpriced room service." Edward rubbed his thumb along Wisp's back in slow circles. One of her legs swung idly, and he noticed that she was still wearing those pink Chucks. "We'll be fine here."

Emmett shrugged. "I'm not picky. This is fine."

That was true. Emmett would eat just about anything.

They ended up ordering a Hawaiian pizza for Edward and Wisp, a Caesar salad for Emily, and Emmett got his steak and french fries. While they waited for the food, Edward excused himself to take a quick shower. He shuddered at the thought of Wisp crawling around on hotel carpet, but she'd get her bath afterward. His gut rolled uncomfortably as he closed the bathroom door, losing sight of her as she knelt next to Emily's chair. He didn't want to be away from her—not today. Not after everything he'd seen.

As he turned on the unfamiliar shower, Edward found that his hands were trembling. They shook visibly, and he braced one arm against the tiled shower wall, inhaling the steamy air deep into his lungs. Wisp. His Wisp. What the _hell_ had she been through? What had those bastards done to her? He had some clues, but not nearly enough. Jeremiah Tucker, the "crazy preacher," had obviously physically abused her. Detective Singh said the boys in his care admitted as much, and there was no mistaking the satisfaction with which Wisp broke that switch when she found it. Brainwashing also seemed likely. What else would you call locking a child in a closet with a giant cross, other than an awful sort of brainwashing method? His body shook, and he turned the water hotter. There was something cold inside him, something icy and unpleasant, and he ached to feel it thaw. His body was too tight, his muscles tensed, clenched. The hot water wasn't helping.

And Leonard Gerandy? Wisp's "bad doctor"? Edward knew he'd physically abused the girl; that was more than obvious. She'd also admitted, her words and body language clear as crystal, that he sexually abused her. Unbidden, the image of her broken body rose in his mind, the way he'd first seen her. Filthy. Horribly beaten and terrified, pulled from the back of James' truck. So small. How could anyone _want_ that? How could that sort of fear and pain bring someone else pleasure? Bile rose in his throat. He swallowed hard, but his stomach rebelled and he found himself bent over, one hand braced on the wall, vomiting liquid and stomach acid from his empty stomach. Fuck. His eyes watered and his throat burned. She was just a child. She didn't deserve any of it.

What about the tattooed man she'd yet to name? And James? Where did they fit in? Who taught her to act like an animal, and why? When had her humanity been taken from her? For what purpose? It seemed that the preacher wasn't complicit, if he forced her to memorize Bible verses. Someone else had taken her language from her. Was it the doctor? The man with the tattooed arms? Someone else, someone they weren't even aware of? How many men had hurt her? Would they ever know the full truth?

Edward was still shaking when he opened the door, showered and dressed in clean clothes. Emmett had disappeared, and Wisp had his laptop in front of her. He could hear Esme's voice through the computer speakers—Emily had set Wisp up to Skype with her mother-figure, something he hoped would help keep her calm. She seemed fine at the moment, one finger in her mouth, her other arm wrapped around her teddy bear as she stared at the lighted screen.

Emily took one look at him and rose from her seat. "Sit down," she said, putting a hand to his shoulder.

"I'm fine." He took a seat on the end of the bed nonetheless. "I told you before, I'm fine."

Emily ignored him. She pressed her fingers to the inside of his wrist again and held up her other arm with a watch. "Your pulse is still racing," she said after a minute.

"There's nothing wrong with me."

"I didn't say there was. Humor me—how do you feel physically? Any headache? Nausea? Trouble breathing, or tightness in your chest? Do you feel dizzy or faint?"

Edward wondered if she'd heard him vomiting, and whether he could lie about it. What was she getting at, anyway?

At his continued silence, Emily gave a wry, humorless smile. "I know," she said quietly. "I know it's hard to do this, especially when she means so much to you." She went to her bag and dug around until she withdrew a familiar little prescription bottle.

"Those are Wisp's," Edward objected.

Emily held the bottle out to him. "And I'm the one who prescribed them to her. I can't force you, but I want you to take one."

Edward looked dubiously at the orange bottle of tiny white pills. "They knock her out. I can't afford to be unconscious; she needs me."

"You're a lot bigger than she is. The dose to calm her will only take the edge off for you, but I think it will be useful."

"I don't have panic attacks."

"But right now your body is full of anxiety, and it's not good for you. I promise, this won't do anything more than slow things down and make it easier for you to cope. Taking a pill doesn't mean there's something wrong with you, and it doesn't mean you have a diagnosis. All it means is that you've had a really stressful day and your body needs a little help coping with it. It's up to you." She turned back to Wisp.

Edward stared at the bottle in his hand for several minutes before swallowing one of the tiny tablets.

* * *

That night, at the hotel in Tacoma, Edward dreamed.

He was married to the love of his life, a woman he squeezed playfully in his arms, her bright, loud laugh rolling out of her like music. Sunlight streamed through huge picture windows, painting everything white and gold, restricting his sight with the intensity of the light. Her hair shone, throwing back glints of sun. She patted at his head, running her fingers through his unruly hair, trying to tame it until she gave up with a little shake of her head and another beautiful laugh. He chuckled with her and dropped his hands to her round, swollen belly, feeling his child stir inside her. In his dream, none of this surprised him. _Of course_ he was married to this woman. _Of course_ she was pregnant with his child. There was nothing wrong with that—in fact, everything was right. So incredibly right.

Until the darkness came.

The sun clouded over in an instant.

He didn't hear a door open, but suddenly a man stood before them. He was tall, his face obscured, and his bare, muscular arms swam with tattoos. They were so thick and dark Edward couldn't tell what they were supposed to be. His wife, his love, trembled and shrank against him. He reached for her, to protect and soothe her. Just as his hands closed around soft, supple skin, the man before them laughed. Edward tried to hold her tighter, only to find that he wasn't holding a grown woman ripe with child, but a tiny, scared little girl, four or five years old at most, clinging to him with all her might. He gripped her back hard as the smell of decay, of mildew and rot, seeped into his consciousness.

The tattooed man laughed again and reached forward. He plucked the little girl from Edward's arms as easily as if she'd been offered to him. Her agonized cry lingered in Edward's ears and he struggled against the strange paralysis that sometimes attacked him in nightmares, where he just couldn't do anything to counteract the terror before him. He fought it, fought to lift an arm, move a leg—anything. But all he could do was smell the scent of ruin as he watched the man with the tattoos hold the terrified little girl against him. Her eyes were wild with fear as she reached for Edward, desperate to be away from the man who held her. But Edward couldn't move.

"You promised!"

Her voice was high and hysterical.

Edward knew he had failed her.

He jerked awake, sweaty and panting, and instinctively fumbled for the bedside light. It was much brighter than the one they were used to at the cabin, and both he and a sleeping Wisp beside him flinched. She whined, her delicate face folded into a soft scowl, and buried her head in her pillow.

Edward forced himself to take slow, deep breaths, staring at the girl curled next to him on the big hotel bed. Neither the woman nor the little girl in his dream looked like Wisp. They didn't sound like Wisp, either, from what he could remember, though his memories were fuzzy. They slipped further from his grasp, details fading into a watery haze, as he stared at the girl sleeping beside him. His Wisp. His lovely, broken girl. He must have moved too much during his nightmare, and her little body fell from its accustomed spot on top of his. She was sleeping peacefully on the mattress now; he wouldn't disturb her by trying to move her back. Instead, he curled his body around hers, leaving the light on. But he didn't go back to sleep.

* * *

If Emily noticed his lack of sleep the next morning, she said nothing. After a light breakfast, Edward helped Wisp into her swimsuit. No matter how he felt or what happened yesterday, he refused to let an opportunity like this slip by. The hotel had a heated, indoor pool, and Wisp deserved something fun after yesterday.

The pool area was empty when they opened the door and stepped into the heavy, chlorine-scented air. Wisp squealed when she saw the full Olympic-sized pool, with a low diving board on one end. Her hands tightened into fists on his shirt, her cheeks pinking with excitement, and despite his lack of sleep, Edward had to laugh. She was so eager, so responsive.

Emmett settled on a plastic lounge chair with his camera out, saying he'd promised Rose video of Wisp's first swim. Emily sat on the side and dangled her brown legs in the water, watching with a smile as Edward shucked off his shoes and stepped onto the stairs leading into the pool. The water didn't feel particularly warm to him, but it wasn't cold, either. If Wisp got chilled, there was also a hot tub they could use to help warm her up. Right now, she wasn't interested in the smaller tub of steaming water—she only had eyes for the big pool. Her breath came fast and shallow as Edward waded deeper, and she squealed again when the water brushed her skin. She kicked her bare foot, sloshing water, testing the temperature with her toes.

Edward waded further into the pool, the water rising to his waist, stilling when Wisp wiggled in his arms, pulling as if she wanted to be put down. "Are you sure?" He shifted his grip, holding her under her arms, letting her sink lower in the water. "Your hot tub is deeper than this, but there are no seats here."

She ignored his warning, kicking her legs, pushing against the resistance of the water. He lowered her further, until her feet rested against the bottom of the pool and the water lapped at her ribs. She was a terrified little thing under many circumstances, but the water didn't frighten her at all, despite its unfamiliarity. She took to it with fascination, eyes wide, mouth set in a little O as she swept her arms across the surface of the pool, making ripples that bounced off the side and returned to her.

"Up?"

"You are up, little Wisp." Edward shifted his hands again, trying to give her a little more of her own weight if that's what she wanted.

"Up," she insisted, turning to face him. She grabbed his arms, and only then did he remember the game they'd played in her hot tub.

"Okay, honey," he said, and he couldn't help smiling. "We can play." He held his arms out in front of him, letting her steady herself. When she was ready, Wisp leaned her weight on his arms and lifted her feet from the bottom of the pool, hopping awkwardly toward him. Her eyes were bright, her smile big as Edward stepped back and let her come to him again. He walked the short length of the pool, never moving deeper, content to let her play in the relative shallows that approximated the depth of her hot tub. They went back and forth three times, Wisp's cheeks reddening with the exercise, her piping voice begging for more when he paused to make sure she was okay.

"Hey Wispy girl," Emmett called from the side of the pool. He had a navy blue foam kickboard in his hands, and the camera was nowhere to be seen. "Why don't you try with this?"

He jumped in, creating a huge splash and making her squeal. She blinked the water out of her eyes and watched, enthralled, as Emmett leaned the upper part of his chest on the buoyant foam board and gripped it with his hands, kicking his legs behind him and propelling himself through the water. He circled Edward and Wisp once, then stood and offered her the board. "Try it," he urged. "Then you won't have to hold on to this old stick-in-the-mud all the time." He slapped Edward's back.

Edward wasn't sure he liked this plan. As far as anyone knew, Wisp couldn't actually swim, and her muscles were weak from malnutrition and disuse. If she happened to slip off the little board or something else went wrong...

But Wisp, ever fearless when it came to water, had other plans. She grabbed the board from Emmett and lowered herself over it, just as he had done.

"Hold on tight, little Wispy girl," the police officer said, squeezing his big hand over hers to ensure that she had a good grip on the board. "Now stick those toothpick legs out behind you and kick!"

Wisp's attempts at kicking didn't stir up nearly as much water as Emmett's did, and the parts of her body not held up by the kickboard tended to sink, as she was skin and bone and her body had no buoyancy. Edward and Emmett walked on either side of her as she toiled, her lower lip sucked in her mouth, her eyes bright as she concentrated on moving her body correctly—kicking her legs one after the other, hugging the board to her chest, tipping her chin up out of the water, and keeping her balance so she didn't lean too far one way or the other.

"Good girl," Edward breathed, watching as Wisp laboriously propelled herself around the pool. She had absolutely no grasp of steering, so he and Emmett gently guided her away from the sides of the pool every time she drifted close. She panted and laughed, and it was clear that she was having the time of her life. Edward knew as he watched her that this couldn't be a one-time thing. There was no public pool in Forks, no gym they could join that offered swimming to its members, but there were several options in Port Angeles, if he remembered correctly. She didn't like car rides, but he had a hunch she wouldn't mind if she knew she got to go swimming. Her hot tub in the back yard was nice, and he was intensely grateful to his parents for the gift, but this definitely gave her more room to explore her body and what it was capable of.

"Edward?"

Emily's voice rang hollowly in the big room, and Edward tensed. He turned, wary, and hesitated when Wisp's therapist waved him over.

"It's okay, Ed," Emmett said from Wisp's other side. "I got her. This little ducky's safe, I swear."

So, reluctantly, Edward made his way to where Emily sat, dangling her legs in the water and watching Wisp play.

"Hi," she said. "No offense, but you look like my dog does when he thinks he's getting punished. Is everything okay?"

Edward shrugged, searching for the words to explain how he felt. It wasn't that he disliked Emily. And it wasn't that he didn't trust her. She'd been immensely helpful yesterday, and he owed her a lot for even being willing to take on a case like Wisp. But...

"I feel like I'm always doing shit wrong," he said finally, watching Wisp and Emmett across the pool. "Like I'm second-guessing myself all the time now."

"Now? You mean, since I started working with you." It wasn't a question. Nor was it accusatory—Emily's voice was gentle.

"Well, yeah." Edward leaned against the rough concrete lip of the pool, feeling it scratch along his back. He heard the gentle lapping of the water at a nearby drain. "I'm not saying I don't get it, because I do. But all this shit like her sleeping with me..." He shook his head. It wasn't easy to put into words how this whole arrangement made him feel. Emily was the expert; he'd never had a problem with that. It was something else, something he found extremely difficult to define. "I don't know," he said. "I just know I don't like it."

"I don't doubt that. Constantly second-guessing yourself can't feel good to anyone." Emily kicked her legs slowly through the water, her eyes following a giggling Wisp playing with Emmett in the pool. "You said you understood why she shouldn't be sleeping in your bed."

"I do, intellectually." Edward dropped his head back, sinking lower in the water, slouching against the side of the pool. "I know it doesn't look good. I know she needs boundaries. I know all of that. But it turned out really, really badly when we tried it your way, and I'm nervous about what will happen even as we move her slowly toward independence. She's not happy about it, and I hate making her upset. But more than that, I guess I hate the assumption about me—what people would think if they knew. Not you or our family, but just random people. They'd think I was a monster taking advantage of her, and I'm _not_." Just the thought of it made him feel ill.

Emily was quiet for a moment. "I'd like you to think about something, Edward, if you would. I don't expect an answer, but I'd like you to consider it."

"Sure." Edward's voice was wary, and his muscles tensed.

"What do you think you might have done differently if you'd pulled somebody else out of that pickup truck? Someone other than Wisp?" She cocked her head to the side, watching him as he stared down into the water. "What if the person in there had been a young boy, rather than a young girl? What if it had been an old man? Or an unattractive girl, as opposed to one who's undeniably beautiful? What might you have done differently? Would you still have wanted to keep that person with you when the state took them away? Would you bathe them? Let them sleep in your bed? Cuddle and kiss them, like you do her?"

"I..." Edward let his voice trail off. His stomach tightened uncomfortably as he listened to Wisp's breathless laughter. He had no answer for Emily—none that he could voice anyway. Irritation raked at his insides, even though his head knew they were perfectly valid questions. What _would_ he have done differently? Certainly none of Emily's alternatives held the visual and tactile appeal that Wisp did. She was beautiful and warm and soft, and her body fit so well with his when she cuddled into him. But what did that mean? He wasn't a predator—he _wasn't_. Even Rosalie knew that, and Rose did not give her trust easily. But no, Edward couldn't honestly say he'd have fought to keep an old man or a young boy in his life as he'd fought for Wisp.

And that hurt.

What if that bitch doctor from the state was right all along? What if he had some dark, hidden motive, one he wasn't even conscious of? What if his desire to help Wisp _wasn't_ just altruism, as he'd told himself from the beginning?

"I'm not a predator," he whispered.

"Edward, of course you're not." Emily put her hand on his shoulder. He jerked in surprise, turning to meet her eyes. "You are a good man—a better man than most. If I thought for one minute that Wisp wasn't safe in your care, I'd be on the phone with her social worker demanding he find a different placement for her. Trust me, I have no doubt that your home is a perfectly good one for her. Would everyone rather she were in a home with a female caregiver, like Esme? Of course. That's just how society thinks. But no one thinks you're abusive, or that she shouldn't be with you. I just want you to really think about your relationship with her. I know you've said that you don't like defining it, putting labels on what you are to each other. You don't have to explain or justify that stuff to me. But you _do_ need to define it for yourself, so you know where your healthy boundaries are. You need to know _before_ she tests them, especially since you know your weaknesses, and you know it's not easy for you to deny her. For instance, you kiss her and she kisses you. Yes, it's very cute when she asks for 'thimbles,' but what will you do when she tries to kiss you on the mouth? I guarantee at some point she will, and you need to be ready. You've admitted that she's tried to give you fellatio more than once. Obviously that's way, way over the line of what's allowable, but what about smaller things like a kiss on the mouth? Or a kiss on the throat, or collarbone? What will you do if she tries to undress for you, after you've ceased to help her bathe and dress? What will you do if she decides she wants romance, once she learns the concept. You're the obvious first place she'll seek it. Is there any point at which you'd hypothetically be open to that sort of attention from her? A level of emotional and mental maturity on her part that would make you feel okay attempting that sort of relationship? These are things you need to know, Edward. For your sake as well as hers. I'm sorry to be the voice of reality when reality isn't kind, but that's the way the world works. You won't know how to handle a situation unless you've thought about it beforehand, and you know your own limits."

Edward grit his teeth. She was right. He hated it, but Emily was right.

"I'm here to help," she added, softer now, soothing. "If you get stuck, or just want to talk something out. I'm here for both of you."

"Hey," Emmett called. Wisp was on his back, clinging to his shoulders as he swam to the wall. "It's almost time to check out. Are we about ready to go?"

Wisp certainly was. Gloriously happy and utterly worn out by her brief but thorough exercise, she breathed deeply, her heart pounding as Edward eased her gently out of the pool and into his arms. She dripped as he lowered her so she could grab a towel from a pile in the corner. She buried her face in the soft white terrycloth, rubbing her red cheeks dry. "Swim," she said proudly. "Swim."

Even through his conflicted feelings over his talk with Emily, Wisp's happiness made him smile. Yes, he understood that Emily's advice was extremely important for everyone involved, and he needed to listen to her. But he _loved_ this girl. He loved her so damn much. And that would never change, no matter how many limits he needed to enforce.

As he climbed the stairs back to their hotel room, his phone buzzed in the pocket of his hoodie, slung over his shoulder. "Will you get that?" he asked Emmett, who dutifully pulled it free. "Who is it?" Esme and Rosalie both promised they'd look in on Wisp's cat and call if there was anything wrong. Fuck, what if the little demon had got out again? Or somehow managed to hurt itself throwing a temper tantrum over Wisp's absence. He remembered all too well the fit it threw when Wisp was in the hospital.

"Uh..." Emmett stopped on the stairs, so Edward stopped, too.

"Well? Who is it?"

Emmett showed him the screen just as the call went to voicemail.

It was Tanya, his ex.

* * *

A/N: A huge thanks to MsHavisham79, CallMePagliacci, livie79, Krazyk85, and LyricalKris for being wonderful, supportive, and amazing during my unplanned hiatus.

Want to know what I'm reading right now? Some current WIP's I'm following:  
Glycerine by livie79  
The Cullen Legacy by pattyrose  
Marley's Mother by Pandora's Box Is Heavy  
Changing My Course by Twilover76  
Chop and Change by Krazyk85  
Servatis A Maleficum by Hev99  
Adore, Adore by ooza  
The Keepsake by windchymes  
Kaleidoscope by luvrofink  
The Gap by capitalab  
The Heir and The Spare by sleepyvalentina


	49. Chapter 49

A/N: Hello, all. This is a short chapter, and I apologize for that, but I thought you might rather have a short one than none at all.

Also, I don't usually respond to reviews because I just don't have a lot of time, but I AM trying to respond to last chapter's avalanche of reviews and PM's. You're all wonderful people, and your words are beautiful!

This is a belated birthday present for abadkitty, who is just about the sweetest person in the known world!

All standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Wisp**

"Well, this is it." Detective Singh waved his hand at a stack of cardboard boxes full of paper and an open laptop flashing a screensaver. "Everything we have on Jeremiah Tucker and his boys."

Edward slid into an uncomfortable plastic chair, settling Wisp on his lap. They'd showered, but the faint scent of chlorine still clung to her damp hair as they moved into the conference room at the Puyallup PD.

He was extremely grateful for the local force's willingness to work with them, and he tried to relax his frame as Wisp peered suspiciously around the room. Besides a long conference table and a cluster of chairs, the room was empty. Nonetheless, she stared under the table and into the closest cardboard box before settling back into his arms.

"Thanks, man," Emmett said, digging into a box and pulling out a manila file folder stuffed with crinkled papers. "We really appreciate it."

"Anything we can do—we want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do."

Yeah, Edward kind of doubted that. Tommy Singh might be pissed that so much had happened in his jurisdiction without anyone's knowledge, but that didn't mean he felt the same way Edward did about finding the truth.

"Just holler," Tommy added, "if you need anything." With a grin of good luck, he left the room.

"Ooookay then." Emmett flipped open the folder in his hand and Emily reached for another box as Edward slid the laptop toward him. There was a file folder on the desktop clearly labeled as everything that had come from the crazy preacher's computer. Reaching around Wisp, he opened the folder and stared at the contents.

The computer must have been ancient and the preacher clearly had little grasp of computing skills. He typed in 16-point font, littered with spelling and grammatical issues, with a rambling sort of prose that made very little sense. Edward let out a slow breath as he stared at a random opened file, then pushed the computer away again in favor of a box.

Wisp fidgeted in his lap, so as much as Edward didn't want to let her go right now, he put her down next to his chair and gave her the backpack full of her things. She pawed through it, pulling out the DVD player and thrusting it into Edward's hands.

He paused, considering. She obviously wanted to watch The Joy of Painting—nothing except Peter Pan could rival her devotion to Bob Ross. The problem with that was, she did not appreciate people talking during an episode. To her, Bob Ross was akin to a shaggy god, and interrupting him was sacriledge. Since they obviously would need to discuss whatever they found in the files, Wisp watching her beloved artist just wouldn't work.

"You can watch something," he said slowly, pulling out the DVD of Mickey Mouse cartoons she'd refused to watch yesterday, "but it has to be this, okay? We need to be able to talk, and I know you don't like anyone interrupting your painting show."

Wisp made no answer, instead staring expectantly at the device in his hand. With a mental shrug, Edward turned it on and slid the disc into place. He handed it back to Wisp, who propped the screen on her lap and stared at it with keen anticipation.

When the first cartoon began to auto-play, though, her face screwed up in a tight grimace. "No," she said, attempting to hand the DVD player to Edward. "Bob." She pointed to the screen. "Bob, Edward. Bob."

He took a slow breath, feeling Emily's eyes on them. This was a test of that boundary-thing she was trying to teach him. Wisp needed to know that no meant no, and also that he still loved her, and wouldn't ever hurt her. He needed reassurance that she would still love him, even when he set limits. "No," he said quietly, hearing the tiniest hitch in his voice. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but you can't watch Bob right now. We need to talk, and talking disturbs you. You can watch Mickey if you want to."

"Bob," she insisted, lower lip quivering, liquid eyes widening. "Bob."

"Little Wisp-" He could feel his resolve cracking. Those soft brown eyes killed him, every time, and he had a sinking suspicion that Wisp knew it.

"Edward?" Emily's voice was soft, and she stepped around the table, dropping the file in her hand back into its box. "That's good—really good. It won't damage either of you to tell her no. Tell her one more time and then, if you don't mind, I'll take over?"

Edward swallowed. He didn't trust his voice, but he held Wisp's gaze and managed to shake his head, slow and deliberate—a gesture he knew she understood. No.

She reached out for him, wide eyes wet and vulnerable, but Emily slid to her knees next to Wisp's small form and touched her arm, momentarily diverting her attention.

"Wisp." Emily's voice was clear and calm. "Edward said no. Let's do something else, okay? Come over here and draw with me." She pulled colored pencils and a pad of blank paper from the backpack and scooted away from the table, giving Edward a little breathing room.

Wisp watched, skepticism dripping from her frame, but Emily ignored it. She sprawled on her stomach on the industrial carpet, selected a light brown pencil from the big box, and began to draw. "Go on with your work, Edward," she said, not raising her head from the paper. "Don't worry; she'll do what she wants to do. It's fine."

Easier said than done. Edward struggled to keep his eyes off of Wisp's dubious little face as she turned toward him, eying him, attempting to judge just how serious he was about denying her. She looked back at Emily, then at him again. Edward couldn't tell if she realized he was watchingher from the corner of his eye. If she did, would it undermine Emily's attempt at distraction? He didn't know, but he couldn't help himself, either.

"I'm drawing a horse." Emily's voice was light, as if she spoke to the room at large. "A nice brown horse. I had a horse when I was little. I called him Dusty, because he was. No matter how much I groomed him, he was always dusty."

Wisp hitched herself slightly closer across the carpet, craning her neck to see the paper.

"He was just a little horse, no particular breed. Maybe even a pony. Just an ordinary little brown horse. But he was my best friend. Now that I'm back in Forks, where there's room, I'd like to have a horse again. They're very nice animals—quiet and calm. If you get a good one, of course. They're very loyal."

Wisp lowered herself slowly to her stomach, settling next to Emily on the floor. She fingered the box of pencils with a slow movement.

Only then did Emily acknowledge her. "I bet you've never seen a real horse," she said. "They're big, compared to your little cat. Bigger even than a dog like my Jake. I promised to introduce you to Jake, didn't I? We should do that soon."

Wisp did not respond, but she slowly pulled a pad of paper toward herself and selected a pencil from the box. Edward exhaled a long breath at her apparent willingness to engage with Emily, and tried to focus on the papers in front of him.

There was a lot of paper to go through. The old preacher was a disorganized packrat; there was no nice way to say it. Crumpled old grocery lists were filed next to bank statements from twenty years ago. Handwritten and printed documents sat side by side. Some papers were folded in half or fourths, others stained by coffee rings, grease, and time. Edward half expected the papers to smell like mold and rot, as the house had, but his nose detected nothing as he leafed through the files.

"Here are some social security cards—photocopies only." Emmett's words were soft, as if he was talking to himself. "All boys." He closed a manila folder and pushed it to the side. "Hey, Ed, didn't Tommy say some of the boys were still around, in juvvie or something?"

"I think so." Edward glanced up from a pile that seemed to be nothing but photocopied pages from some religious text. "Why? D'you think some of them might remember her or something?"

Emmett shrugged, reaching into a box for another folder. "It's worth a try."

"_Anything_ is worth a try."

"I'll ask Tommy when he comes back, then."

For two solid hours, Emmett and Edward went through the boxes, one piece of paper at a time, while Emily and Wisp colored on the floor, mostly in silence. Cardboard cups of coffee were drained, Wisp given a snack of goldfish crackers and boxed juice. Disgusted at the lack of useful information in the boxes, Edward turned back to the computer. Clicking on a random Excel spreadsheet with an incomprehensible name, he squinted at the grid that loaded.

Names. Dates. Narrowing his eyes further, he enlarged the text and studied the spreadsheet carefully. There were no headers—not that he really expected this old preacher to be so organized—and he struggled to figure out what it all meant. The first column was a line of dates, the second column a list of first names, then a column of last names, then another column of first names, then another column of dates. The last two columns weren't always filled. He looked at the names—boys names, just as Emmett said of the social security photocopies. He scrolled down the list. Ryan. Aiden. Jordan. Michael. Jonathan. Connor. His eyes scanned the spreadsheet with the practiced speed of a scholar used to digging through raw data. Numbers, names, dates—his mind took it all in.

Until he realized the thirty-first row was missing.

He paused his scan, staring at the numbers on the very left side of the screen. They jumped from thirty to thirty-two without a pause, and since row numbering was something the computer program did automatically, it wasn't just some typo on the old preacher's part.

Pointing the cursor at the various menus at the top of the screen, Edward fiddled until he found an option to "unhide all cells." He clicked on the laptop's touchpad and, sure enough, row thirty-one appeared as if by magic.

And then, in the thirty-first row, clear as day, was the name Isabella.

Edward swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, and his eyes strayed involuntarily to the girl on the floor with Emily before snapping back to the computer screen. Yes, he'd read that right. Isabella. The date before her name was just about fifteen years ago. "Emmett," he said, his voice odd in his own ears. "Emmett, look."

Emmett was there instantly, peering over his shoulder. "Fuck," he muttered. "Jackpot. Jackpot, motherfucker."

"Swan," Edward said, reading from the spreadsheet. "Isabella Swan. And look, Em, the third name. Ruth."

The date in the final column was a little more than seven years old.

"What does it mean?" Emmett continued, yanking out the chair next to Edward and throwing himself into it. "Is that her middle name? Isabella Ruth Swan?"

Edward exhaled slowly, looking again at the two women on the floor. "I...don't know." Emmett talked quietly enough that Wisp didn't seem to notice when he spoke the names. And what about the dates? The first was fifteen years ago—was it a birthdate? James had said Wisp was twenty, which meant a five-year discrepancy. His stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought that Wisp could actually be quite a bit younger than they'd assumed. Carlisle had said from the beginning that pinpointing her age wasn't possible, not down to a definitive year, particularly since neglect and malnutrition had inhibited her growth and puberty. Looking at her, he honestly couldn't rule out the possibility that she was still a teenager. Not by sight. Oh, god, what if they'd been wrong? What if James lied, and this was just a kid after all? A kid who had been sharing his bed for months now? Feeling sick, Edward looked away from the girls and stared at the screen again.

"How's everything going in here?" Detective Singh knocked on the open door of the conference room, poking his head in. "Find anything?"

"Maybe," Emmett said. "C'mere. D'you know what these dates are?"

Tommy hovered over them, peering down at the laptop. "Oh, yeah, those. Those are the preacher's boys—the date he got 'em, the name they came in with. This column here is for if he changed their name—not legally, of course; he did everything under the table. The boys said he didn't approve of non-Biblical names. And that last date is when the kid left, _if_ he ever left. You'll see that a lot of 'em didn't, toward the bottom of the list. Right around when the old man stopped keeping records and then died."

"But look—did you find this?" Emmett demanded, shoving his big finger under the name Isabella on the screen. "A girl. He had a girl, and I think it's Wisp."

Hearing her name, Wisp propped herself up on her elbows and lifted her head, turning to look at the cluster of men. Edward did his best to give her a reassuring smile, and saw the ghost of a return flit across her mouth before she settled back to the floor on her belly. Sweet thing.

"You're sure that's not a birthdate or anything?" he asked the detective.

Tommy shook his head. "Nah, the boys we talked to all said the same thing when we asked them. That's the date they came to the preacher, and the other's the date they left." He frowned at the computer screen. "This wasn't my case, remember, but I don't recall ever hearing a girl's name come up."

"Well, there she is, plain as day." Edward drummed his fingers on the tabletop. If James was telling the truth, and if this spreadsheet was accurate, Wisp had been just about five years old when, somehow, a delusional preacher had illegally acquired her. From whom and why were still unknown. She'd stayed with him, in the vicinity of Dr. Gerandy, until she was thirteen.

And then what?

What happened after that? Where did she go? Why, and with whom?

"We still don't have a lot of answers," Emmett said, mimicking Edward's train of thought, "but we're starting to see at least a skeleton of her past. This old preacher guy. The sick fuck of a doctor. Someone else, I guess, who taught her to act like a pet—maybe that dude she draws with the tattoos, maybe not. Tommy, I want to talk to however many of those boys you can round up."

The detective scratched the back of his neck. "Finding 'em isn't a problem, since a good handful are in lockup. But I'm not gonna be able to set up meetings this afternoon. They have to agree to meet, and have legal representation, and all that stuff."

"Wisp can't wait any longer; she needs to go home tonight." Edward glanced at her, noting that Emily was listening carefully to the conversation. "She's been incredibly good so far, but she needs to get back to her home and her routine."

Emmett nodded in understanding. "We'll set it up for later—maybe next week?"

Detective Singh agreed.

"C'mon, let's finish going through these boxes, and then get little Wispy back home."

As he continued clicking through files on the laptop, Edward listened with half an ear to Emily and Wisp on the floor.

"That's a very nice picture," Emily said, gazing at the drawing of Esme in the kitchen of Edward's little cabin—the only safe home, perhaps, that Wisp had ever known. "I wonder if you'd draw something else for me, now?" She slid a fresh sheet of paper in front of the girl. "Wisp, we're here trying to figure out what happened a long time ago to a little girl named Isabella. I think you know, but I understand that it's difficult for you to remember, and to talk. It's asking a lot, but would you draw her for me? Draw me Isabella, Wisp. Can you do it?"

The delicate scowl on Wisp's face, when Edward turned to look, wasn't one of defiance or upset. Rather, she looked...confused? She bit hard on her soft lower lip, and he ached to tug it free of her sharp teeth, as he'd done so many times before. The black pencil in her hand quivered, then dropped to the floor with a musical clink.

"Isabella." Emily tapped the paper. "Nothing else. Just Isabella, Wisp. I want to know how you see her, how you remember her."

Wisp sat for a long time, her eyes unfocused, gazing down at the blank paper, before she began to draw. She drew slowly, with frequent pauses between strokes of the pencil, selecting her colors with care. Throughout, her beautiful face didn't lose that scowl of concentration, of confusion, though Edward was quite sure she understood what Emily had asked of her. It was more like...more like she'd never expected to be asked such a thing.

When completed, the drawing wasn't like anything else she'd ever created.

Instead of picture-perfect realism, this drawing looked decidedly...cartoonish. It was skillfully rendered, but didn't look like Edward was used to Wisp's drawings looking. A tiny girl of indeterminate age—maybe somewhere between three and six—sat in the lower left-hand corner of the paper, drawn small, so small. Her knees were drawn to her chest, her dark eyes enormous and full of so much fear. Miniscule toes peeped out from beneath the hem of her dress. Long, dark hair spilled down her back. There was nothing else on the page, just a vast expanse of emptiness—of nothing. Nothing, and one little girl.

"Is that Isabella?" Emily asked, pointing without touching the page.

"Isabella," Wisp agreed in a near-whisper.

"She looks scared. Can you tell me about that? Why is Isabella scared, Wisp?"

Wisp shifted, sitting up and clutching her knees to her chest, much like the child in the picture. Her thumb found its way into her mouth. "Scared," she mimicked, and in that moment Edward couldn't for the life of him remember if this was a new word for her or not.

"Yes, I can see that. It's very sad for a little girl to be scared. Do you think you can tell me what she's scared of?"

Whether she understood the question or not, Wisp shook her head. Her thumb remained in her mouth and she rocked slightly, back and forth.

"Okay. That's okay. Maybe, though, we could try to help her not be so scared? What do you think we could do for Isabella? What would make her happy?"

"Pet?" The answer was hesitant, so small and unsure, but hopeful nonetheless.

"Yes, I think Pet would be a very good thing to help Isabella. Why don't you draw her, right there?" Emily pointed to a spot by the little girl's side.

Slowly Wisp withdrew her thumb and reached instead for the black pencil. She sketched in a cat, bigger than any housecat would be in comparison to a little girl. "Pet," she said solemnly.

"Yes, good. That's very good!" Emily smiled widely, and received a tiny smile from Wisp in return. "Anything else? What else can we give Isabella so she's not so scared?"

Sucking her lip back into her mouth, Wisp bent over the paper again. She drew Esme, and a teddy bear, and warm blankets, and the reading lamp in Edward's bedroom. She drew Peter Pan, and Rosalie, and ripples in a pool of water.

She did not draw Edward.

"No Edward?" Emily asked.

"Mine." Wisp's voice was firm. Apparently there was at least one thing she did not care to share, even with her younger self.

* * *

A/N: Once again, thank you all for your support and your kind words. Wisp is a labor of love, and I'm so glad you're with me on this ride. :)

Also, I'll be uploading the oneshot I co-wrote with mshavisham79 this evening as well, so you should check that out. It's funny smut for the Let's Do Anal contest (won second and third place!), so it's kinda WAY out of my comfort zone, but I had fun!


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